Fallen Angel
by LivetoDream333
Summary: When demons realize that something so perfect, pure, and destructive to their kind is in the making, they attempt destroy it. They try to destroy perfection, killing John Watson in Afghanistan before he even knows who Sherlock Holmes is, but divine intervention starts a war between the Angels and Demons of the world, using 221B as the epicenter. Winglock, Johnlock, Mystrade, AU
1. Please God, Let Me Live

For those who are reading my Doctor Who stories. I am sorry about the delay. I am mid-way through my next chapter, but this popped into my head and so I had to start writing it before I forgot about it, which would have been a sin!

You will be seeing some more Sherlock stories out of me in the future, not going to lie. I really like writing for Sherlock now that I've had a taste. Nothing will go on hold, I promise. But I really do love Sherlock and all it entails.

Forewarnings about this story, it has religious themes to it. I'm not going to dictate how anyone should feel, but there are religious things in this story, don't like, don't read, simple as that. I don't want to offend anyone, you all can believe what you want and I don't want anyone offending anyone else based on the content of this story.

It's not going to be overly religious, really only five things are touched on: God, Satan, Heaven, angels, and demons. God is only brought up a little bit, Satan plays more of a part in here. I'm not going to be high-and-mighty religious about anything, I promise.

There will be Winglock here and Johnlock. Smile at that.

Don't freak out about the end of this chapter, there will be more chapters.

I have taken the idea of the "Angel of Justice" from a police officer that I know who has seen-just as many of their fellow officers-this Angel/Demon appear to them during tough times. The story from Jason is an actual occurrence someone has had with the being I call the Angel of Justice.

Have fun reading.

Reviews with praise, constructive criticism, questions, concerns, and comments are welcome.

Characters my be OOC in some spots, but otherwise very close to cannon. (AU-sort of)

Enjoy.

* * *

Please God, Let Me Live

John Watson was never viewed as a religious man, but he had always been strangely strong in his faith. He didn't talk about it, it simply was there, heavy in his heart, under lock and key. He didn't act as most religious people did, throwing it down the "unfortunate idiots'" throats at every turn, he simply minded himself and did his best not to judge others. He knew he was human and made his mistakes like everyone else and did his best to remain understanding (not to say some things didn't annoy him, after all, he wasn't a saint). He, however, hadn't truly believed in the existence of angels or demons though…until Afghanistan. His time in war had taught him many things.

The small man, burn wounds all over his body was a common sight in Afghanistan.

John had first met this man when he was driving his soldiers back to the base after patrolling the nearby town. The burned, gruesome creature had appeared on the dash and looked at John. The skin of the creature was red and yellow, swollen and cracked everywhere. The air was sucked from John's lungs and he felt the strangest tug at his soul and heart. The creature reached out and put his hand on John's, before turning him down a side-street rather than the main street. His fellow soldiers were upset, but he couldn't do anything else.

John Watson was terrified of the burned creature that had controlled his life. As soon as he was on the street, the scarred, little man disappeared, letting go of his hand. John didn't say a single word all of the way back to base, not even when his comrades bated him. He was terrified. His heart was pounding. Sweat dewed his skin. His hair stood on end.

"You alright, Captain?" One of John's American roommates asked gently, grabbing John's arm as he walked into his room. John jerked away and reached for his knife before he relaxed and flopped himself down on his bed. "You look pale… Like you've seen a ghost." Jason was one of the many Americans who shared the base with several other armies, working together to help police and bring peace to Afghanistan.

"Have you ever…I know this sounds crazy…but… Have you ever seen a burned man?" John asked his friend.

"Was he small? About the size of an eight-year-old, but looked old?" Jason inquired, sitting on the bed across from John. John nodded. "I've seen him, several times. I'm a police officer back home and it happens a lot. It scared the hell out of me the first time I saw him. I went into the gas station, came out, and got back in my squad car to find him sitting right next to me. I nearly had a heart attack. My Sargent told me about him later on…"

"What is it?"

"What did he do?" Jason asked instead of answering John's question.

"Made me turn onto a different road. He literally grabbed my arm and forced me to turn. No one else saw him. I thought I was going crazy."

"Back home we call him the Angel of Justice. The last time I met him I was in my car and he grabbed my hand when I went to start it to go to a domestic. He just held my hand and didn't let go, staring at me. I couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything, he just wouldn't let go. I don't know how long he held me, but he let me go and I started the car and left for the domestic only to find out that had I arrived sooner I would have been killed." Jason shook his head. "He's bad news, John. He only shows up when bad things are about to happen, but he's pretty good at stopping them from happening."

"Angel of Justice?" John wondered.

"The only people I've ever met who have seen him are members of the police force, fire departments, and armies… I figure he's out there to protect those who protect others. I didn't believe in angels or demons until I met him. I've seen my share now."

"I think I might agree with you…" John sighed, shaking his head.

"Captain?" A voice called, rushing into the room.

"Yes?" John wondered.

"I don't know how you knew."

"Knew what?"

"The main road…sir… A car bomb went off…killed thirty people… It would have killed us, sir."

"See what I mean, John?" Jason said simply. "He's not good news." John saw the Angel of Justice several times but he didn't see it the one day he truly needed to see it.

8Sherlock8

_That one…_ The dark voice in his head whispered. Sebastian looked up across the room to see Captain John Watson talking to someone else, sternly, using his Captain tone in a doctor-like fashion. _He is a threat. He has a soul mate, and with him they will destroy our kind. They will fight back. _Sebastian looked the captain up and down slowly, assessing him for weaknesses. Sebastian was a demon, a demon set to destroy anything that might be strong enough to fight against his kind. His instincts told him John was a threat, but his human mind assured him that John was no threat. _Not by himself…but with the other one, there would be perfection, a perfect balance that could destroy us. We must never allow it to happen. He must die. _Sebastian smiled. He knew the perfect way to do it.

8Sherlock8

John ran through the abandoned and fossilized streets, glancing around the corner of a building before he continued onwards, coming to a halt at the side of a fallen comrade. The American woman had been shot in the thigh. "Hello, I'm Captain Watson, I'm here to help you. I'm a doctor."

"I didn't think anyone was coming back for me."

"To be quite honest, I'm not supposed to be here." John smiled gently, trying to soothe her as he began to work on her leg, trying to stop the bleeding. "You're going to be alright." John promised her. "Be my eyes for me?" He asked with a smile. She nodded and picked up her gun, holding it close as she watched around them, listening for threats over the din of bombs and shells in the air. "Good news, you're going to be perfect." John beamed at her. "It hurts like hell, but you're not going to bleed to death."

"Thank you, sir." The woman sighed in relief. "You know, I was scared… I've got a little boy back home." She winced as John worked on her leg.

"What's his name?"

"Tyler… He's everything to me." She smiled.

"That's—" a shot ran in the air and a bullet pierced the woman in-between her eyes. "No! Fuck! She was going to live!" John ran and ducked behind a building, holding himself together as well as he could. He pulled his gun out and peered around the corner to see no one on the roof where the shot had come from. He leaned back against the side of the building before he heard footsteps racing up behind him. John turned and sighed in relief, lowering his weapon. "Colonel Moran…thank God. I almost killed you." John turned and nodded towards the other building. "Someone's sniping—Ah!" John cried out as a knife went through his arm, forcing him to drop his gun.

"Yeah, I was sniping, for sport." Sebastian chuckled.

"W-why?"

"You're a threat, John Watson, and we don't take threats lightly." He chuckled before shooting John through his shoulder. John fell to the ground with the impact and the Colonel grabbed John's weapons and anything that could signal for help. "Sleep tight, John… You'll be dead soon. Normally I'd just kill you, but you deserve to bleed for a long time, knowing you can't stop it. Goodbye Captain."

John was left alone, his shoulder screaming for attention. He slowly sat up and searched the wound gently, trying not to scream as he pulled part of the bullet out of his useless arm. There was already too much blood and not enough time to fix the wound. He was practical, a doctor, and knew it would take a miracle. "Please God, let me live." He pleaded, keeping futile pressure on the wound, hoping for a miracle.

No such miracle came.

* * *

There will be more explanations throughout the story, just hang on, trust me.


	2. The Miracle Meeting

**Glad to see favorites and followers already as well as reviews. It's really cool as well, because with different fandoms I get to meet different people and touch different audiences, which is really cool for me. **

**Should I mention I don't own Sherlock? Yeah, probably. I don't own Sherlock.**

**To the Reviewer(s):**

**Guest: Thank you! I am usually very good about updating. If I don't, I'm either too sick to look at a screen or having the worst writer's block ever... (Like right now with my Doctor Who story...) But, I digress. Thank you!**

**Theatre of Dreamers: Thank you... :) Sherlock is introduced and soon we'll go into more detail about John's situation. I think you'll see who's going to spill the beans in this story. I have a character in mind to help John (and the readers) understand what's going on. It will be backstory, but hopefully interesting stories. :)**

* * *

The Miracle Meeting

John looked down at the chair absent mindedly, picking at the threads there. It was hopeless, all of it was hopeless. How did a man find meaning in life when life didn't want him? "How's your blog going?" Ella asked. John looked up at Ella, seeing the faint, warm, glow around her.

"Yeah, good." He cleared his throat. "Very good."

"You haven't written a word, have you?"

"You just wrote "Still has trust issues"." John pointed out. Of course he had bloody trust issues. A comrade killed him and came back as some half-and-half freak with no idea as to what purpose he should serve. He only knew what he was, not what he was supposed to do, only that he'd died in one war to join another.

"And you read my writing upside down. Do you see what I mean?" Ella wondered. The corner of John's mouth pulled up slowly. "John, you're a soldier, and it's gonna take you a while to adjust to civilian life; and writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you."

"Nothing happens to me."

8Sherlock8

John limped through the park, leaning against his cane as he moved quickly down the path. He hated it, he couldn't even walk properly even though there was nothing wrong with him. "John! John Watson!" John turned slowly and looked at the man who hustled towards him. His skin was glowing faintly. "Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart's together." He gestured to himself before holding his hand out.

"Yes, sorry, yes, Mike." He switched hands with his cane to take the hand offered to him. "Hello, hi."

"Yeah, I know. I got fat!"

"No." John said, trying to sound convincing.

"I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?"

"I got shot." John shrugged.

8Sherlock8

"Are you still at Bart's, then?" John wondered.

"Yeah, teaching now. Bright young things, like we used to be. God, I hate them!" Mike and John both laughed.

"What about you? Just staying in town 'til you get yourself sorted?" Mike inquired.

"I can't afford London on an Army pension." John scoffed.

"Ah, and you couldn't bear to be anywhere else. That's not the John Watson I know."

"Yeah, I'm not the John Watson ..." John shifted uncomfortably, coming up short. He still felt like himself most of the time…but he knew he wasn't purely John Watson anymore. He wasn't himself, not completely. His hand started to shake as he thought about the changes and he clenched his fist, trying to stop the annoying tremble.

"Couldn't Harry help?"

"Yeah, like that's gonna happen," John scoffed.

"I dunno – get a flatshare or something?"

"Come on – who'd want me for a flatmate?" John rolled his eyes and Mike chuckled.

"What?"

"Well, you're the second person to say that to me today."

"Who was the first?" John wondered, intrigued.

8Sherlock8

John limped into the lab and glanced around, his eyes falling on the tall man for a moment. There was nothing around him, no light, no darkness, just an empty void around him. John looked away quickly, unnerved. "Well, bit different from my day." John commented.

"You've no idea!" Mike chuckled.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine." Sherlock stated.

"And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike inquired.

"I prefer to text." Sherlock insisted.

"Sorry. It's in my coat." Mike sighed after looking through his pockets.

"Er, here. Use mine." John said, offering his phone to Sherlock.

"Oh... Thank you," Sherlock slowly got up and took the phone from John's outstretched hand. Their eyes locked for a brief moment and John felt as though the entire world had shifted in his head.

_Protect him. Guide him… _The voice in his head whispered. John looked away quickly.

"It's an old friend of mine, John Watson." Mike cleared his throat and said. He could feel a strange tension in the room and wanted to clear it. Sherlock turned away from John and began to rapidly send a text.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock asked.

"Sorry?" John wondered.

"Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq?" John glanced at Mike who smiled gently.

"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know—?" John started, but a girl walked into the room and Sherlock looked towards her.

"Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you." Sherlock handed the phone back to John before turning to Molly, taking the coffee. "What happened to the lipstick?"

"It wasn't working for me." Molly said slowly. John glanced at her to see a very warm glow around her.

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now." Sherlock said, taking a sip of his coffee and frowning at the bitter taste.

"Okay…" Molly said before she looked away.

"How do you feel about the violin?" Sherlock asked as he worked.

"I'm sorry, what?" John inquired.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. It's a little bit messy at times and a little crowded. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." He smiled a fake smile at John before looking back down at the screen in front of him.

"Oh, you—you told him about me?" John asked, looking at Mike.

"Not a word," Mike shook his head.

"Then who said anything about flatmates?" John asked, turning towards Sherlock. Sherlock picked up his coat and slowly, gracefully, slid it on.

"I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap." Sherlock said as he pulled on his scarf on.

"How did you know about Afghanistan?" John asked, shifting against his cane as the man in front of him picked up his own phone, checking it.

"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it." Sherlock said as he walked towards John. Sherlock made him feel very uneasy, something about him was wrong. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." He slid his phone into his coat before heading to the door, opening it.

"Is that it then?" John demanded, turning around. Sherlock stopped and walked closer to John.

"Is that what?"

"We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?"

"Problem?" John smiled for a brief moment before shaking his head.

"We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name." John felt Sherlock's eyes run over him for and instant and saw a smirk appear on his face.

"I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid." John shifted uncomfortably. It was bad enough knowing the wound wasn't real himself, but for someone else to know, it hurt. "That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" He went out the door and leaned back in with a smile. "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is two two one B Baker Street." He winked at John. "Afternoon."

"Yeah. He's always like that."

8Sherlock8

It was cloudy as John limped down the street towards 221. He glanced at the black door before he stepped up to knock on it, just as a cab pulled up to the curb.

"Hello." Sherlock called, handing money to the driver before John walked up to him.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes." John said simply.

"Sherlock, please." Sherlock insisted before the two of them shook hands. Both of them froze when their hands met, standing still for a moment as they both felt like they'd been struck by lightning. John finally mustered the strength to pull away, both of them shifting awkwardly.

"Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive." John said as they walked to the door, both being very careful not to touch one another.

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favor. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help her out." Sherlock said absently, thinking about the handshake, not understanding could have happened like that.

"So you stopped her husband being executed?"

"Oh no. I ensured it." Sherlock smiled as the door opened and a petit, warm looking woman wrapped her arms around Sherlock. John smiled at the golden glow around her.

"Sherlock, hello."

"Mrs. Hudson, Doctor John Watson." Sherlock said once he pulled away, gesturing to John.

"Hello." Mrs. Hudson smiled warmly. "Come in." She held the door for John as he walked through the doorway.

"Thank you." He smiled at Mrs. Hudson. John took the stairs quickly, trying to ignore the throb in his leg before he made it to the top. Sherlock had waited for him and that made John want to die in a hole. He hated that people had to wait for him. Sherlock opened the door and both of them looked around the flat. "Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed." John commented, looking around.

"Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely." Sherlock nodded. "So I went straight ahead and moved in." Sherlock said just as John said: "Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out."

"Oh." John said slowly, once he realized that the things in the room were Sherlock's. "So this is all..."

"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit." He said picking up envelopes and papers before putting them on the mantel, holding them down with a knife through the center of them.

"That's a skull." John said, pointing to it with his cane.

"Friend of mine." Sherlock looked at the skull for a moment. "Well, I _say_ 'friend'..."

"What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's a bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms." Mrs. Hudson suggested with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

"Of course we'll be needing two." John stated as though it were obvious, but he wasn't so sure of himself. Not with what a simple handshake had done outside.

"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here. Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones." She whispered conspiringly before she headed towards the kitchen. "Oh, Sherlock. The mess you've made." Mrs. Hudson began to clean up the kitchen as John sat down in an armchair.

"I looked you up on the internet last night." John commented and Sherlock turned around slowly, their eyes meeting and unable to pull away from one-another.

"Anything interesting?" Sherlock asked.

"Fund your website, The Science of Deduction." John started. Sherlock beamed.

"What did you think?" John looked at him doubtfully and Sherlock looked deeply wounded.

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb."

"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone." Sherlock added, the smug smile coming back.

"How?" John wondered. _Well, at least he can't read that I should be dead and that I've got, things sticking out of my shoulders. _John sighed in relief to himself as Sherlock turned away.

"What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same." Mrs. Hudson said, reading from a newspaper.

"Four." Sherlock said, looking out into the street. "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."

"A fourth?" Mrs. Hudson asked in shock. A man ran up the stairs. John glanced at him and winced away at the light around him. Lestrade looked down at John with wide eyes, staring for a long moment before Sherlock brought him out of his haze.

"Where?"

"Er…Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." Lestrade nodded.

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different."

"You know how they never leave notes?" Lestrade asked.

"Yeah."

"This one did. Will you come?" Lestrade wondered, sneaking another glance at John.

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock inquired, catching the looks Lestrade was shooting at John with curiosity. What was so strange about John that Lestrade kept looking at him? And why was John doing everything in his power not to look at Lestrade?

"It's Anderson." Lestrade frowned.

"Anderson won't work with me."

"Well, he won't be your assistant." Lestrade insisted.

"I _need_ an assistant." _Preferably one with medical knowledge. _He forced his eyes to stay on Lestrade, rather than flicker to John.

"Will you come?"

"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind." Sherlock agreed.

"Thank you." Lestrade sighed gratefully.

"You weren't on today." Sherlock commented.

"Well, you know, duty calls. I'm never off work." Lestrade shrugged before he left the room, going back down the stairs. Sherlock leapt into the air happily.

"Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" He said, practically dancing around the room as he pulled on his coat and scarf. "Mrs. Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food."

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper."

"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!" Sherlock called before he left the room.

"Look at him, dashing about! _My_ husband was just the same." The implication was not lost on John. "But you're more the sitting-down type, I can tell." Mrs. Hudson nodded gently. "I'll make you that cuppa. You rest your leg."

"Damn my leg!" John shouted before he realized what he'd said. "Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing..." He said hitting his leg with his cane in anger. He hated being broken, especially when there was no wound to be spoken of.

"I understand, dear; I've got a hip." Mrs. Hudson said, heading for the kitchen.

"Cup of tea'd be lovely, thank you." John sighed, looking through the newspaper, trying to hold back his anger as he looked at the write-up in the paper on the suicides.

"Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper."

"Couple of biscuits too, if you've got 'em…"

"Not your housekeeper!" Mrs. Hudson called fondly.

8Sherlock8

Lestrade got into the police car and pressed the first speed dial. "Yes, Greg?"

"You need to meet someone." Lestrade said simply.

"Do I? Who is that, I wonder?"

"Sherlock has an angel in his flat…"

"So?"

"Myc… He's there for Sherlock."

"Then I will have to meet him. Thank you Greg."

"Of course."

"Love you."

"Love you, Myc." Lestrade smiled before hanging up his phone.

* * *

**Much love to all of you!**


	3. Pink

**To the Reviewer(s):**

**AsamiAkihito: Well, it is almost Christmas... :D I'm excited for this one too. There will be a few twists that may not quite be expected, but it will be all in good fun. Greg is My's angel, yes. :)**

**Guest: Thank you! :D**

**June: I'm glad you're enjoying it. :) **

**Sendai: Yes! I love writing 'new' things! Wings come a bit later, but you'll see them, I promise.**

* * *

Pink

"You're a doctor. In fact you're an Army doctor." John jumped at the voice, looking up to see Sherlock looking at him.

"Yes." John said, barely pushing himself to his feet. "Yes." He nodded.

"Any good?"

"Very good." John said evenly. He was boasting a little bit, showing off a bit, but even if he couldn't walk well, he knew he was a damn good doctor. It's all he had left.

"Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths…?"

"Mmm, yes."

"Bit of trouble too, I bet."

"Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much." _I have died… That should pretty much be the icing on the cake. _

_"_Wanna see some more?"

"Oh God, yes."

8Sherlock8

"Okay, you've got questions." Sherlock stated, glancing sideways at John.

"Yeah, where are we going?"

"Crime scene. Next?"

"Who are you? What do you do?" John wondered.

"What do you think?"

"I'd say private detective..."

"But?" Sherlock wondered.

"But the police don't go to private detectives." Sherlock smiled proudly.

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job."

"What does that mean?"

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me." Sherlock said smugly.

"The police don't consult amateurs." John scoffed. Sherlock shot a slightly hurt look at John. For some reason, he couldn't stand to think that John might not think highly of him.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor, obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan…Afghanistan or Iraq." He said, clicking the final q at the end.

"You said I had a therapist."

"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Then there's your brother."

"Hmm?"

"Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare–you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."

"The engraving." John nodded.

"Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently–this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then–six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do–sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking."

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" John demanded.

"Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them." He said handing John his phone. "There you go, you see, you were right."

"I was right? Right about what?"

"The police don't consult amateurs." Sherlock turned to look out the window, fidgeting slightly. He had never valued anyone's opinion before, but he found his heart racing at the thought that John might reject him for his comments, that John may not appreciate his mind. It tore him apart to think that John may not approve of him, he hated it, the need for approval.

"That...was amazing." John said slowly. Sherlock looked at John with wide eyes.

"Do you think so?"

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary." John said, completely at a loss for words.

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"'Piss off'!" The two of them shared a warm smile before looking out of their windows.

8Sherlock8

"I can give you two minutes." Lestrade said, leading Sherlock and John up the stairs slowly, to accommodate John's limp.

"May need longer."

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her." Lestrade said, walking into the room. Sherlock stared at the body, John's eyes saddened at the sight, and Lestrade's eyes fell on John.

"Shut up." Sherlock snapped.

"I didn't say anything." Lestrade insisted.

"You were thinking. It's annoying." Lestrade sighed heavily as Sherlock knelt down next to the body, looking at her hands, the message, her coat…seeing everything. After a minute he smiled and stood up, pulling off his gloves.

"Got anything?" Lestrade wondered.

"Not much." Sherlock shrugged.

"She's German." Anderson stated from the doorway. "'Rache': it's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something—"

"Yes, thank you for your input." Sherlock slammed the door in his face before turning to his phone.

"So she's German?" Lestrade wondered.

"Of course she's not. She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night before returning home to Cardiff." Sherlock said, slipping his phone into his pocket. "So far, so obvious."

"Sorry…obvious?" John wondered.

"What about the message, though?"

"Doctor Watson, what do you think?" Sherlock asked, looking towards John instantly.

"Of the message?"

"Of the body. You're a medical man." Sherlock said simply. He was excited to see the man at work. He wanted to see the way John Watson worked like no one else in his life.

"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside." Lestrade stated. "No offense, Dr. Watson, I'm sure you're amazing." John didn't like the way Lestrade looked at him at all. It was as if Lestrade knew something about him that no one else did.

"They won't work with me." Sherlock insisted.

"I'm breaking every rule letting you in here."

"Yes...because you need me." Sherlock stated, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

"Yes, I do… God help me." Lestrade looked away.

8Sherlock8

"Now, where is it? What have you done with it?" Sherlock asked Lestrade, glancing back down at the woman.

"There wasn't a case." Lestrade shrugged.

"Say that again…?" Sherlock inquired. It was important. Lestrade's answer was important.

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase." Sherlock's eyes widened and he ran for the stairs.

"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?" Sherlock called out.

"Sherlock, there was no case!"

_A mistake. Serial killer. _Sherlock smiled. "But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them."

"Right, yeah, thanks, and!?" Lestrade shouted.

"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings, serial killings." Sherlock said happily, nearly manic with joy. "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to."

"Why are you saying that?" Lestrade wondered.

"Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?" He asked sarcastically. "Someone else was here, and they took her case. So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car."

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there." John called back.

_Good idea, wrong. _Sherlock thought to himself. "No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking—Oh." Sherlock beamed. "Oh!" Sherlock's hands came together with a snap as everything snapped together in his mind.

"Sherlock?" John wondered. He could feel the frantic energy in the air, the manic joy and thrill of the chase in his blood, burning, consuming.

"What is it, what?" Lestrade wondered.

"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake."

"We can't just wait!"

"Oh, we're done waiting! Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!"

"Of course, yeah, but what mistake?!" Lestrade shouted after the already-gone Detective.

"PINK!" Sherlock said before he disappeared.

"Does he normally do that?" John wondered.

"You get used to it…" Lestrade sighed before he grabbed John by the arm, pushing him into a room on the floor.

"Let go of me." John said, attempting to pull away.

"I know what you are." Lestrade told him after he closed the door. "Why are you here?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." John insisted, pulling away from Lestrade.

"Oh, but I think you do." Lestrade said, large silvery wings extended from his back and he raised an eyebrow at John. John made his escape as quickly as he could with his limp. He didn't ask to be who he was, _what _he was. He wasn't ready to be faced by it. He didn't want anyone else to know.

But Greg Lestrade was the least of John's worries.

8Sherlock8

"Have a seat, John." A tall man gestured to a seat with an umbrella. John slowly limped toward the man.

"You know, I've got a phone." John insisted. "I mean, very clever and all that, but you could just phone me. On my phone." John walked past the chair, not even glancing at it.

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place." He gestured to the warehouse around him. "The leg must be hurting you. Sit down." His voice became a command.

"I don't wanna sit down." John said firmly.

"You don't seem very afraid." Mycroft said curiously.

"You don't seem very frightening." John snapped back. Mycroft chuckled.

"Ah, yes. The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think? What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

"I don't have one. I barely know him. I met him…yesterday."

"We both know that that's not what I'm talking about. Since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?" Mycroft wondered.

"Who are you?"

"An interested party."

"Interested in Sherlock? Why? I'm guessing you're not friends." John's eyes narrowed. Why did he feel so…protective over Sherlock Holmes? He'd just met him.

"You've met him. How many 'friends' do you imagine he has? I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."

"And what's that?"

"An enemy."

"An enemy?" John wondered.

"In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic…" Mycroft sighed.

"Well, thank God you're above all that." John rolled his eyes.

"Speaking of God. How is your faith? Strong I imagine…" Mycroft commented. John's phone went off and he looked down at it.

**Baker Street. Come at once if convenient. –SH**

"I hope I'm not distracting you." Mycroft grinned.

"Not distracting me at all."

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?" Mycroft demanded.

"I could be wrong, but I think that's none of your business." John insisted.

"It could be."

"It really couldn't." John shook his head.

**Could be dangerous. –SH **

"You're very defensive, very quickly." Mycroft commented before pulling a notebook out of his pocket. "Let's have a brief look at facts, shall we? Killed in action, it says, here. Dead for twenty minutes before you just happened to wake up for no reason at all… Sounds curious, would you like to talk about it?" Mycroft wondered. John's knuckles turned white on his cane. "You also have trust issues, yet you're so close to Sherlock, very quickly. Is there a reason for that? Is there a reason why you died without a tattoo on your body and woke up with one burned in your skin? You're young…you're so fresh…you must be full of questions. Is there a reason why you aren't asking them?"

"Is there a reason why you don't create your own light?" John snapped back. Mycroft's skin had a subtle glow through John's eyes, but John could tell that it wasn't of Mycroft's making.

"Ahhh, there's the angel inside of John Watson… It's not my light, no… Like Sherlock, I have no guardian angel watching over me—well, not one in heaven—so my light appears gone. I have an angel on Earth, watching out for me. A soul mate, a guardian angel on Earth… You're here for Sherlock. Why _you_ though? What are you to him? An angel, obviously. Protection? Guardian? Soul mate? A messenger? Tell me."

"It's none of your business."

"It really is." Mycroft nodded.

"No, it's not. Are we done here?" John asked, starting to turn away.

"I suppose you've felt the electricity? The pull? The gravity? You're not just Sherlock's personal angel are you? You're much more than that."

"Are we done?" John asked angrily.

"You tell me." John turned instantly and walked to the car. "So…Sherlock has a soul mate…and Watson was sent from the dead… That can only mean one thing." Mycroft pulled his phone out.

"Hello, Myc." Lestrade answered on the first ring.

"What did you think of John?"

"Human, turned angel, like me. He has a greater purpose though… I was born into the world for you… John was re-born. There is a reason why he was wanted dead, Myc. I fear that he and Sherlock are in danger. Demons only try to kill the real threats to them."

"My point exactly… If they killed John, and now he's back…this means war."

"I know, Myc."

"I trust you'll help him?"

"Whatever he may need, whenever he needs it."

"I knew I could count on you."

"I love you." Lestrade whispered.

"Love you too…"

* * *

**Much love to all of you!**


	4. A Date

**Hope you enjoy this chapter! Exam week, be patient with me. **

* * *

A Date

"Text, yes. The number on my desk." Sherlock said, holding out a phone to John. John glared at the man for a brief moment before he walked across the room and took the phone from him. Their hands briefly touched and they stared at each other for a minute, a strange, warm feeling around them, before John pulled away, fighting against the daze. Sherlock's hands were pressed beneath his chin again as he closed his eyes. John walked to the window and peeked through the window. Sherlock heard the noise and looked at John, seeing a concerned look on his face. "What's wrong?" He asked John, concerned.

"Just met a friend of yours." John answered slowly.

"A friend?" Sherlock asked, confused and slightly disturbed.

"An enemy." John corrected and Sherlock instantly relaxed.

"Oh. Which one?" Sherlock wondered, nonchalantly.

"Your arch-enemy, according to him. Do people have arch-enemies?" John asked, looking at Sherlock curiously. Sherlock looked at John.

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"He hinted in that direction, but I shut him down before he got there." John commented. The man had wanted information on John and Sherlock.

"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time." Sherlock frowned. _Shut him down? Ooh, I would have loved to see that. _

_"_Who is he?" John wondered.

"The most dangerous man you've ever met and not my problem right now."

_Are you sure…? I've met some demons in my time… _John thought to himself.

"On my desk, the number." Sherlock ordered. John picked up the paper on the desk and began to read it when his eyes widened.

"Jennifer Wilson. That was— Hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?" John wondered.

"Yes. That's not important. Just enter the number." Sherlock ordered. "Are you doing it?" He asked a second later.

"Yes." John answered simply, annoyed.

"Have you done it?"

"Yes—hang on!" John protested.

"These words exactly: 'What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.'" Sherlock said slowly as John typed.

"You blacked out?" John asked worriedly.

"What? No. No!" Sherlock said, getting up quickly and walking on the table in front of him to get to the kitchen. "Type and send it. Quickly." He walked into the kitchen and picked up a suitcase before putting it down in front of his chair, opening it and sitting down in the chair. "Have you sent it?"

"What's the address?"

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Hurry up!" Sherlock insisted as he flipped the suitcase open. John looked over and slowly walked forward, looking at the case with wide eyes.

"That's—that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case." John said with wide eyes as Sherlock looked at the contents of the case closely.

"Yes, obviously." Sherlock shrugged before he noticed the look on John's face. "Oh, perhaps I should mention, I didn't kill her."

"I never said you did."

"Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact I that have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption." Sherlock said, his eyes narrowing in John's direction. Anyone else would have called Sherlock the murderer. Anyone else would have hit 999 instantly. John didn't… John was different.

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?"

"Now and then, yes." Sherlock smirked before he pushed himself up and sat on the back of the chair, his feet in the seat as he folded his hands under his chin.

"Okay," John started, sitting across from Sherlock. "How did you get this?"

"By looking," Sherlock said simply.

"Where?"

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention, particularly a man, which is statistically more likely, so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realize his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip," Sherlock shrugged.

"Pink. You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?" John wondered. The man across from him was brilliant, stunningly so.

"Well, it had to be pink, obviously."

"Why didn't I think of that?" John wondered.

"Because you're an idiot." John looked up at him, hurt. "No, no, no, don't look like that. Practically everyone is."

8Sherlock8

"A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer would panic." Sherlock smiled and flipped the case closed before he moved across the room, heading for his coat.

"Have you talked to the police?" John wondered.

"Four people are dead. There isn't time to talk to the police." Sherlock shook his head.

"So why are you talking to me?" John inquired.

"Mrs. Hudson took my skull." He hated it when Mrs. Hudson took it from him. It was very special to him, he didn't want it out of his sight.

"So I'm basically filling in for your skull?"

"Relax, you're doing fine." Sherlock said, pulling on his coat. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, you could just sit there and watch telly." Sherlock grimaced at the thought of the mundane shows that people seemed to enjoy too much.

"What, you want me to come with you?" John wondered, stunned.

"I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so…" Sherlock slowly said. _It's got nothing to do with John…not at all… Just the work… It's all about the work, nothing more. _Sherlock said to  
himself over and over again. He wasn't convinced. "Problem?" Sherlock wondered, catching John's smile.

"Yeah, Sergeant Donovan."

"What about her?" Sherlock asked, disgruntled.

"She said you get off on this. You enjoy it."

"And I said 'dangerous' and here you are." Sherlock smiled before he walked out of the flat.

"Damn it!" John hissed to himself before following Sherlock out of the flat.

8Sherlock8

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it." Sherlock nodded through the window as he took off his coat and scarf.

"He isn't just gonna ring the doorbell, though, is he? He'd need to be mad." John chuckled.

"He has killed four people," Sherlock commented.

"Okay…" _Fair point. _John thought.

"Sherlock." A heavy-set man with a faint glow walked over and shook Sherlock's hand with a warm smile on his face. "Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house, for you and for your date." He said handing a menu to John.

"Do you want to eat?" Sherlock asked John.

"Date?" John asked. The thought made his heart skip a beat, but he tried not to let it show.

"This man got me off a murder charge."

"This is Angelo." Sherlock explained as Angelo shook John's hand. "Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking."

"He cleared my name," Angelo said reverently.

"I cleared it a bit. Anything happening opposite?"

"Nothing," Angelo nodded to Sherlock before looking at John. "But for this man, I'd have gone to prison."

"You did go to prison." Sherlock pointed out.

"I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic."

"O…kay…" John said slowly, practically stunned to silence.

"You may as well eat. We might have a long wait." Sherlock said, discarding his menu. Angelo placed a candle on the table before he disappeared again. John looked at it for a moment before looking down at the menu.

8Sherlock8

"People don't have arch-enemies." John commented. Sherlock slowly took his eyes off of the outside world and looked at John.

"I'm sorry?"

"In real life. There are no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn't happen." John told him.

"Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull," Sherlock looked back out the window. "What do real people have, then, in their 'real lives'?" Sherlock wondered.

"Friends; people they know; people they like; people they don't like. Girlfriends, boyfriends..." John tried to be subtle, but he knew it wouldn't work, not on the genius across from him.

"Yes, well, as I was saying–dull." Sherlock commented. John felt like something icy had stabbed him.

"You don't have a girlfriend, then?" John wondered, looking for hope.

"Girlfriend? No, not really my area."

"Oh, right... Do you have a boyfriend then?" John wondered. Instantly Sherlock looked at him, grey-blue meeting ocean blue. "Which is fine, by the way." John told him.

"I know it's fine." Sherlock commented, looking John up and down quickly. John smiled gently.

"So you've got a boyfriend then?" John prayed he didn't.

"No." Sherlock shook his head.

"Right. Okay. You're unattached. Like me," John muttered. "Fine. Good." John returned to his food.

_Twitchy, licked lips, cleared throat, pulse fast…nervous…anxious. _

"John, um… I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, but I am flattered by your interest, if you're asking—"

"No," John's voice cracked slightly. "No, I'm not asking. No…" John muttered, his cheeks turning red at the thought. Sherlock was married to his work…no room for a little, battered ex-army-doctor… Which was fine…wasn't it?

"Oh…" Sherlock glanced away, out the window. "Pity…" Sherlock said, his voice low with disappointment.

"Pity indeed." John frowned. He'd screwed that up royally. "If I were asking…what would your answer be?" John wondered. Sherlock's enemy had been right, John could tell by the pull of his emotions, his heart. John knew he was more than just Sherlock's guardian angel, or else these unstoppable feelings wouldn't pull at them so forcefully. Sherlock slowly turned back to John, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Yes," Sherlock answered without hesitation. He couldn't explain it. There were very few people he had ever felt anything for in his life, in fact, he had a hand to count them on his hand. Yet…he felt pulled to John, out of control around him. Something about John called to his mostly stone heart. It was like a magnetic pull, a non-polar covalent bond, gravity and the apple, a bow and a violin…

"Good…" John smiled.

"Are you asking now?"

"I might be." John grinned.

"Good." Sherlock beamed, before he caught something out of the corner of his eye. "Look across the street. Taxi," Sherlock nodded, "stopped. Nobody getting in, and nobody getting out. "Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?" Sherlock wondered, looking around.

"That's him?" John wondered, seeing darkness surrounding the cab. Something sinister was in the cab. It captivated him. It wasn't the first fallen soul he'd ever seen. It happened all the time, but it was dark…so dark, it held his attention.

"Don't stare." Sherlock warned.

"You're staring."

"We can't both stare." Sherlock said, getting up and putting on his coat. John followed him, slipping on his own jacket as he followed Sherlock. Sherlock smiled slightly when his eyes grazed John, noticing the cane and limp were gone as he put on his scarf. The cab lurched to life and Sherlock instantly took off after it, not even stopping to think of the cars in the road.

"Sorry." John called to a driver as he chased after Sherlock, who'd come to a halt a few yards ahead of him. "I've got the cab number."

"Good for you." Sherlock said, focusing hard on his mental map of London. "Right turn one way roadworks traffic lights bus lane pedestrian crossing left turn only traffic lights…" Sherlock looked around the street before he took off down an 'Alternative Route'. Sherlock shoved a man out of the way before continuing on.

"Oi!" The man shouted.

"Sorry," John apologized before following Sherlock up stairs, taking them two at a time as Sherlock took them three at a time.

"Come on, John!" Sherlock called.

_Damn it… If only I could fly. _John came to a halt whereSherlock had jumped from one side to the other with ease, fearing he couldn't leap that far.

"Come on, John. We're losing him!" Sherlock called.

"Damn it…" John hissed before he backed up and sprinted forward before he jumped, doing his best to catch up to Sherlock. The managed to race down stairs and onto a street, only to watch the cab slide out of reach.

"No!" Sherlock frowned before he ran down another alleyway. "This way." Sherlock called, John easily following him. Sherlock managed to get ahead of the cab and throw himself in front of it, pulling out an ID before running to the passenger's door. "Police! Open her up!" Sherlock called. John's eyes were fixed on the cab driver, who looked at him with fury burning in his darkening eyes.

_Protect Sherlock. _A voice shouted in John's head in warning. John looked away from the man before he instantly went to Sherlock's side, protectively.

"No." Sherlock stated, standing up straight. "Teeth, tan: what…Californian? L.A., Santa Monica. Just arrived."

"How can you possibly know that?" John wondered, staying calm in spite of the dark presence glaring at them.

"The luggage. It's probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?" Sherlock nodded.

"Sorry – are you guys the police?"

"Yeah." Sherlock showed him his badge. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah."

"Welcome to London." Sherlock grinned before walking away.

"Er, any problems, just let us know." John nodded to him before following Sherlock. "Basically just a cab that happened to slow down."

"Basically." Sherlock agreed.

"Not the murderer." John nodded.

"Not the murderer, no."

"Wrong country, good alibi." John sighed.

"As they go." Sherlock shrugged.

"Hey, where-where did you get this? Here." He took the ID from Sherlock. "Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"Yeah. I pickpocket him when he's annoying. You can keep that one, I've got plenty at the flat." Sherlock stated. John chuckled quietly. "What?"

"Nothing, just: 'Welcome to London'." John smiled. Sherlock chuckled before he caught a glimpse of a police officer looking their way.

"Got your breath back?"

"Ready when you are." John nodded before both of them ran.

8Sherlock8

"Okay, that was ridiculous." John said as he and Sherlock both leaned against the wall, trying to catch their breath. "That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."

"And you invaded Afghanistan." Sherlock stated. John giggled uncontrollably and Sherlock laughed along with him.

"That wasn't just me." John promised. "Why aren't we back at the restaurant?"

"Oh, they can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway." Sherlock said, looking down.

"So what were we doing there?"

"Oh, just passing the time." Sherlock shrugged. "And proving a point."

"What point?" John wondered.

"You," Sherlock smiled, glancing down at John.

"What?" John looked down and his eyes widened. "Oh my God…" John said, shocked. "You fixed me."

"You were never broken," Sherlock promised gently.

"Thank you." Before John knew what he was doing, he'd grabbed Sherlock's face in his hands and planted a kiss against his lips. John didn't let go of him, but they both pulled back slightly in shock, before Sherlock leaned in, pressing his lips against John's. The kiss was tentative, but warm and slowly building. A door slammed and they jumped away from each other.

* * *

**Much love to all of you!**


	5. Taxi for Sherlock

**Sorry this took me so long, it's exam week at college and then I traveled home, so I've been a bit tired and off this week. My apologies for that. :)**

**To the Reviewer(s):**

**********AsamiAkihito:** **I loved that line Lestrade used, it made me smile. And now, whenever I watch the Angelo scene all I can think of is Sherlock frowning and saying: "Pity" instead of "Oh, good." Thank you for the love. :)**

* * *

Taxi for Sherlock

"What are you doing?" Sherlock demanded as soon as he and John made it into the flat.

"Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid." Lestrade said, sitting casually in an armchair.

"You can't just break into my flat."

"And you can't withhold evidence. And I didn't break into your flat." Lestrade said, holding up a set of keys with a jingle.

"Well, what do you call this then?" Sherlock demanded, pointing at the others in the flat. "You having those keys gives you no right to let them into my flat."

"It's a drugs bust." Lestrade stated after a moment.

"Seriously?! This guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!" John scoffed. Sherlock walked close to John, facing him.

"John…" Sherlock warned.

"I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational." John rolled his eyes.

"John, you probably want to shut up now," Sherlock scolded.

"Yeah, but come on..." The two of them looked at each other for a long moment. "No."

"What?" Sherlock wondered.

"You?"

"Shut up," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm not your sniffer dog."

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog." Lestrade agreed with a nod.

"What, An—? Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?" Sherlock demanded when Anderson waved sarcastically.

"Oh, I volunteered," he sneered.

"They all did. They're not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they're very keen." Lestrade smiled.

"Are these human eyes?" Donovan demanded.

"Put those back!" Sherlock ordered.

"They were in the microwave!" Donovan protested.

"It's an experiment."

"Is this your rabbit?" Another policeman asked skeptically, holding a tarnished rabbit with button eyes in his hand. John didn't understand why Sherlock would have an old stuffed animal. Sherlock wasn't the type for sentiment, but the rabbit looked as old as he was.

"Put that back now!" Sherlock shouted, looking livid.

"Listen to him on that one, Peirce, just stay out of that room. Keep looking, guys." Lestrade ordered before standing up and looking at Sherlock eye-to-eye. "Or you could help us properly and I'll stand them down."

"This is childish." Sherlock said angrily, pacing.

"Well, that's because I'm dealing with a child. Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?" Lestrade demanded.

"Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?" Sherlock seethed.

"It stops being pretend if they find anything." Lestrade commented.

"I. Am. Clean! And you know it." Sherlock snapped.

"Is your flat? All of it?"

"I don't even smoke anymore." Sherlock hissed, rolling up his sleeve to show him the nicotine patch.

"Neither do I. For the same reason, I think? Right?" Lestrade wondered, rolling up his sleeve. Sherlock rolled his eyes and pulled his sleeve back down, pacing again. "So let's work together. We've found Rachel."

"Who is she?" Sherlock wondered, curiously.

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."

"Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?" Sherlock wondered.

"Never mind that. We found the case. According to _someone_, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath." Anderson said in a snarky tone.

"I'm not a psychopath, Anderson. I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research." He turned quickly back on Lestrade. "You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her."

"She's dead."

"Excellent!" Sherlock beamed. John looked startled at his excitement over a dead girl. "How, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be."

"Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago."

"No, that's—that's not right. How? Why would she do that? Why?" Sherlock wondered.

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup–sociopath; I'm seeing it now."

"She didn't _think_ about her daughter. I know the difference." Lestrade looked down instantly, avoiding eye-contact with Sherlock. "She _scratched_ her name on the floor with her _fingernails_. She was _dying_. It took effort. It would have hurt." Sherlock insisted, pacing again.

"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he...I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow."

"Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be that upset?" Everyone froze and went silent. "Not good?" Sherlock wondered, fidgeting slightly.

"Bit not good, yeah."

"But upset enough to kill herself after all of those years… I don't think so. If you were dying...if you'd been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?"

"'Please, God, let me live.'" John said, wincing at the memory.

"Oh, use your imagination!"

"I don't have to. You didn't deduce that part did you? I actually have died." John commented, looking down. Lestrade looked at John sadly, he could only guess at how much turmoil was going on in John's head, with memories of a war and a future twisted in a permanent way… John must have been going insane.

"I'm…sorry." Sherlock whispered, blinking. Everyone froze at those words, he never said them to anyone. "Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever...Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers: she was clever." Sherlock said, the thought suddenly hitting him as he began to pace again, restless. "She's trying to tell us something."

"Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson called at the top of the stairs.

"I didn't order a taxi. Go away." Sherlock shooed her away.

"Oh, dear. They're making such a mess. What are they looking for?"

"It's a drugs bust, Mrs. Hudson." John told her gently.

"But they're just for my hip. They're herbal soothers." Mrs. Hudson promised.

"Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off." Sherlock shouted.

"What? My face is?!"

"Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back." Lestrade ordered.

"Oh, for God's sake!"

"Your back, now, please!"

"Come on, think. Quick!"

"What about your taxi?" Mrs. Hudson wondered.

"MRS. HUDSON!" He shouted at her angrily. Mrs. Hudson squeaked and dashed down the stairs. "Oh. Ah! She was clever, clever, yes! She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead. Do you see, do you get it? She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him. When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer."

8Sherlock8

"Tell me you saw that." Lestrade said, looking at John with wide eyes, staring at the door after everyone else had left.

"Darkness. I saw it. Hard to not notice." John commented. "You too?"

"Yeah…and I'm sorry about earlier… I'm sorry for grabbing you like that." Lestrade apologized. "I was just curious. There aren't many of us half-lings."

"When did you…?"

"I was born a half-ling." Lestrade shrugged. "I'm a Messenger, so I knew someone was coming, but you showed up a little later than I expected."

"I didn't die soon enough, apparently." John sighed. "I've been avoiding it, apparently."

"All part of the plan, I assure you." Lestrade smiled. "If you ever need to talk. Call me. Sherlock's got my number… Speaking of Sherlock…?"

"You know him well, don't you?" John wondered.

"I've known him for five years, no I don't…" Lestrade shrugged. "But I know he's a good man, and you just might make him a great one…but that wasn't what I meant. Aren't you going to get him?" Lestrade wondered.

"Got to make him think he's won."

"You think you can make it that quickly?" Lestrade wondered.

"I'm pretty fast." John smiled, looking at a map before he ran up the stairs, finding the way to the roof quickly. He slipped off his oatmeal jumper to reveal that his undershirt was backless, a crude hole cut out of the fabric, revealing a dark black tattoo of two wings and a bullet wound. Silver burst from his shoulders. The wings were whiter than dove wings, wide, and powerful, making John look larger than he was.

He walked to the edge of the roof, his wings twitching in anticipation before he jumped.

8Sherlock8

"Sherlock 'olmes. Look at you! Here in the flesh. That website of yours: your fan told me about it." The cabbie nodded at him.

"My fan?" Sherlock asked, leaning forward.

"You are brilliant. You are. A proper genius. "The Science of Deduction." Now that is proper thinking. Between you and me sitting here, why can't people think?" The cabbie asked, upset. "Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just think?" The two of them stared at each other for a moment.

"Oh, I see. So you're a proper genius too." Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Don't look it, do I? Funny little man drivin' a cab. But you'll know better in a minute. Chances are it'll be the last thing you ever know."

"Okay, two bottles. Explain." Sherlock ordered.

"There's a good bo'le and a bad bo'le. You take the pill from the good bo'le, you live; take the pill from the bad bo'le, you die." The cabbie told him, a small smirk filling his face.

"Both bottles are of course identical," Sherlock observed.

"In every way."

"And you know which is which."

"Course I know."

"But I don't."

"Wouldn't be a game if you knew. You're the one who chooses." The cabbie's smirk became more pronounced.

"Why should I? I've got nothing to go on. What's in it for me?" Sherlock inquired.

"I haven't told you the best bit yet. Whatever bo'le you choose, I take the pill from the other one – and then, together, we take our medicine." Sherlock grinned widely. "I won't cheat. It's your choice. I'll take whatever pill you don't."

8Sherlock8

John landed on top of the college and folded his wings in before he went down into the college before he saw his mistake. He ran into a classroom and looked out the window with wide eyes. "Sherlock…" John saw the cabbie look towards him and smirk, lifting a gun.

8Sherlock8

"What if I don't choose either? I could just walk out of here." Sherlock commented. The cabbie's eyes looked past Sherlock and lifted a gun.

8Sherlock8

John take several breaths, aiming at the cabbie before waiting for the downbeat of his heart, the stillest moment a body could be before he pulled the trigger and ducked.

8Sherlock8

A bullet sounded and Sherlock jumped as the cabbie fell to the ground. He turned and ran to the window, looking at the trajectory needed to make the shot. _Marksman. Sniper. Steady. Brilliant. _

"Tell me this: your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me – my 'fan'. I want a name." Sherlock ordered.

"No," the cabbie spat.

"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me a name." Sherlock put his foot on the wound when the cabbie shook his head. "A name. Now!" Sherlock shouted over the cabbies screams. "THE NAME!" Out of the corner of his eye the cabbie saw an angel peering into the room, wings spread, eyes blazing with fire, a silent order.

"MORIARTY!"

8Sherlock8

"Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me." Sherlock protested towards Lestrade.

"Yeah, it's for shock." Lestrade told him. Lestrade was glad to see a slight glow to Sherlock's skin. John was helping him, slowly making an impact on Sherlock.

"I'm not in shock."

"Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs." Lestrade teased with a smile. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"So, the shooter. No sign?" Sherlock wondered.

"Cleared off before we got 'ere. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but I've got nothing to go on." Lestrade stated. He knew John had killed him and he wasn't going to say a word. He was merely going to make sure the possessed body was dealt with properly.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Sherlock smiled smugly. Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"Okay, gimme." Lestrade insisted, knowing he wouldn't follow through with anything. Sherlock slowly stood up, holding the corners of the blanket.

"The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon—that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatized to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service..." His eyes met John, standing with military posture near a police car. "And nerves of steel..." John's eyes met his and instantly John's head turned away from him. "Actually, do you know what? Ignore me."

"Sorry?" Lestrade wondered.

"Ignore all of that. It's just, er, the shock talking." Sherlock said, walking towards John.

"Where're you going?" Lestrade asked.

"I just need to talk about the-the rent."

"But I've still got questions for you."

"Oh, what now? I'm in shock! Look, I've got a blanket!" Sherlock protested. Lestrade nearly laughed, he'd pay money to see Sherlock shocked. "And I just caught you a serial killer...more or less."

"Okay. We'll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go." Lestrade smiled fondly as soon as Sherlock turned his back. Sherlock walked across the road and threw the blanket into a car before standing next to John.

"Um, Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything, the two pills. Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful." John shook his head.

"Good shot." Sherlock smiled gently.

"Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window." John shrugged.

"Well, you'd know." Sherlock's smile widened. "Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case." John cleared his throat gently. "Are you all right?" Sherlock asked, gently, his hand subconsciously gripping John's.

"Yes, of course I'm all right."

"Well, you have just killed a man."

_Not completely human though… "_Yes, I... That's true, innit? But…he wasn't a very nice man." John nodded. Sherlock smiled gently and let go of his hand, suddenly realizing that he had been holding it.

"No. No, he wasn't really, was he?" Sherlock wondered with a smile.

"And frankly a bloody awful cabbie."

"That's true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here," Sherlock laughed and John giggled, making Sherlock smile. Sherlock enjoyed that giggle, he liked the sound of it.

"Stop! Stop, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene! Stop it!" John protested.

"You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me."

"Keep your voice down! Sorry–it's just, um, nerves, I think." John told Donovan.

"Sorry." Sherlock agreed as both of them walked away. "Dinner?" Sherlock asked John with a smile.

"Are you asking?" John wondered with a small smile. Sherlock blushed slightly.

"Yes."

"I'm starving." John answered with a smile.

"End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle." John noticed a car pull up and watched a man get out.

"Sherlock. That's him. That's the man I was talking to you about." John stated, looking. Sherlock glanced at the man.

"I know exactly who that is." Sherlock stated, walking forward.

"So, another case cracked. How very public spirited...though that's never really your motivation, is it?" Mycroft asked with a pretense of pleasantry.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock sighed heavily.

"As ever, I'm concerned about you."

"Yes, I've been hearing about your 'concern'." Sherlock scoffed.

"Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?"

"Oddly enough, no!" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer...and you know how it always upset Mummy, think of poor Jasper." Sherlock glared at Mycroft.

"I upset her? Me?" Sherlock glared. "It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft. And no one calls him Jasper, no one."

"No, no, wait. Mummy? Who's Mummy?"

"Mother–our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft." Sherlock nodded to the very posh man. "Putting on weight again?"

"Oh, stop it, you two." Lestrade said, stepping in before standing next to Mycroft.

"Hello, Greg." Mycroft smiled before kissing his cheek.

"Not going to work, Mycroft. I heard you picking a fight."

"He's your brother? You two are together?" John directed the first at Sherlock and the second at Lestrade.

"Of course he's my brother."

"All mine." Lestrade smiled warmly. It clicked in John's mind. Mycroft shone brighter with Lestrade at his side. Greg was his guardian angel and his soul mate.

"So he's not..."

"Not what?" Sherlock wondered.

"I dunno–criminal mastermind?"

"Close enough." Sherlock said with a glare directed at Mycroft.

"For goodness' sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government."

"He is the British government, when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis." Lestrade sighed heavily at a loss for how to keep the two from arguing.

"They're always like this…the family dinners…" Lestrade shook his head.

"Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic." Sherlock walked away slowly.

"So, when-when you say you're concerned about him, you actually are concerned?" John asked.

"Yes, of course." Mycroft nodded.

"I mean, it actually is a childish feud?"

"He's always been so resentful."

"Mycroft…" Lestrade warned.

"So you two… You?" John looked at Lestrade.

"Any time you want to talk." Lestrade smiled gently.

"Good night, Doctor Watson." Mycroft called. John caught up with Sherlock.

"So: dim sum." John commented.

"Mm… I can always predict the fortune cookies." Sherlock stated.

"No you can't." John rolled his eyes.

"Almost can. You did get shot, though." Sherlock stated, changing topics.

"Sorry?"

"In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound."

"Oh, yeah. Shoulder." John frowned. _Bit more than a wound…_

"Shoulder! I thought so." Sherlock beamed.

"No you didn't." John sighed heavily.

"The left one."

"Lucky guess."

"I never guess." Sherlock retorted.

"Yes you do," John laughed. Sherlock smiled gently. "What are you so happy about?"

"Moriarty." Sherlock commented.

"What's Moriarty?"

"I've absolutely no idea."

"A mystery then…a good one?" John wondered.

"I can only hope, but I've already got a mystery to solve."

"And what's that? You just solved the case." Sherlock didn't say anything, but he looked at John pointedly and smiled.

* * *

**Much love to all of you!**


	6. Greg

**I know, excuse after excuse, but I really have been sick, on the upside, you'll be getting two chapters today, right? :)**

**I don't own Sherlock, by the way. **

**To the Reviewer(s):**

**********AsamiAkihito:** John's wings are going to be another topic in the next chapter and Jasper will come up as well. I got all A's and B's for my first semester of college, so that was nice, thanks for asking. :)

******Sendai: It's fine! I'm glad you're enjoying it. I promise there will be more flying in the future and more wings. There are some rules, but John doesn't really remember much, as stated in this chapter. Thank God for Lestrade. :)**

******Raxacoriocofallapatorius: I officially love you. You have the best name ever. I love Doctor Who, as if you can't tell with all of my Doctor Who stories... Anyway, I will be updating as often as I can. I promise. :)**

* * *

Greg

John had settled into Sherlock's life easily within the days following their first case. John felt as though he'd always been there…and strangely enough Sherlock felt like John had always been there as well. He felt warm with John around, alive. They'd shared several kisses and spent nearly every waking hour together, but they were always interrupted whenever they seemed to come close to moving forward in their relationship. Outside of the frustration they had with everyone else's poor timing, they got along.

There was only one rule Sherlock had made quite clear: Don't go into the other bedroom.

The flat had three bedrooms, one upstairs, and two on the main floor. John was allowed everywhere, but the smaller bedroom, for unknown reasons that he didn't even attempt to pry out of Sherlock.

Three days after moving in with Sherlock, John made the call and Lestrade instantly welcomed him out to a bar. John hung up before moving to grab his coat. "Where are you going?" Sherlock wondered from the couch.

"Out," John answered.

"Ah, with Lestrade, correct?" John froze and looked at Sherlock.

"How? Never mind."

"Why Lestrade, though?" Sherlock inquired.

"He wants to talk to me about something…and I have questions for him."

"About what?"

"Ask me again some other time." John said, fidgeting slightly before he left the flat. He hated that he couldn't tell Sherlock anything, but he didn't know half of the story himself. He prayed that the messenger would know something.

8Sherlock8

John stopped just outside the bar he was supposed to meet Lestrade in and glanced around before walking inside. It was busy, loud enough to disguise a quiet conversation. "John," Lestrade called from a booth in the far corner of the room, away from most of the people in the bar. John moved over to the booth and sat down across from him.

"Don't worry…none of _their_ kind comes down here. That's why I like it here. I can drink in piece. I hope you don't mind, I ordered you a drink. I think you'll like it." Lestrade stated. John took a small drink and smiled.

"Ta. That's comforting that they don't come here. But why don't they?" John inquired.

"Well, I'd like to think it because I frequent it so often." Lestrade smiled before he took a small sip of his drink. "So, you've got questions."

"First about the cabbie—"

"Don't worry, I had it taken care of. Molly took care of everything."

"She an angel too?"

"Oh, heavens no, but one day she just might be a saint. She found out about me years ago when I was trying to dispose of a demon, she's been helping me ever since, and Mycroft manages to leave false paper trails rather nicely. It all adds up to easy disappearances." Lestrade smiled. "We got him before he could jump to a new host."

"That's…good, very good." John nodded.

"What's your story then?" Lestrade wondered.

"In Afghanistan I was trying to save a woman's life. I went back for her even though I wasn't supposed to. She was going to make it, but someone shot her in the head. I ran, there was nothing more I could do…then the colonel showed up. I thought he was there to help me…but he shot me and left me bleeding out. He said I was a threat. I wanted to live, I begged..."

"But you died anyway." Lestrade commented.

"Yeah…"

"What do you remember? Anything?"

"I remember being happy and then being angry…so angry. I was furious. I don't know why…then I took a breath, woke up in the base, someone stitching me up so I could go home in a casket. You can imagine how frightened both of us were. We both weren't expecting me to be alive."

"So you woke up and simply were angel? Do you remember any of the rules? The duties? Anything?" Lestrade asked in shock.

"It's a bit vague… I know I'm not to be seen by anyone, that the lights around humans are a way of measuring their connections to their guardian angels, that demons attach themselves to dark souls, and that demons have to be killed a special way. That's all I remember."

"Dear God, you really did have it rough… I mean, I was born like this, I knew everything instinctually. You must feel like you're blind. No one is supposed to go in as blindly as you have."

"I do feel a bit blind… I assume guardian angels are protectors, but shouldn't everyone have a guardian angel then?"

"Everyone starts off with one." Lestrade stated. "If the angel dies trying to protect them then the connection is severed, which is why some people don't have lights around them. They are the ones whose angel died for their human. They are never allowed in the lives of their human again…" Lestrade frowned.

"What happened to Sherlock's guardian angel?"

"I've pieced that together… I think he lost his at seventeen, overdose on cocaine. His angel gave up his life to keep Sherlock alive. Sherlock's been alone ever since. Mycroft recons Sherlock's nearly died thirty times since."

"They want us dead, me and Sherlock." John commented. "I can feel it. "There's such a dark presence in this city…"

"They always want the strong ones dead. Just from that first case, the way you work together, you'll be unstoppable. The two of you destroying the evil out there…of course they want you gone. You have a chance to win."

"I suppose that's something that we'll simply have to face." John sighed. "Soul mates…what is the deal behind that?" Lestrade's face broke into a huge smile.

"I can tell you all about that." Lestrade beamed. "Soul mates are a segment of guardian angels that are beyond the norm. They are the perfect match of their humans, the person that brings the very best out of their humans. Unlike normal guardian angels they can't be permanently separated from their humans… Death…would keep them on different planes, but they would still have a connection and would be together after both of them died."

"If Sherlock dies…"

"You would die with him. But if you die, he would live on." Lestrade said before he lightened the tone. "So have you two done it yet," John's face turned red. "Obviously not then. How have you lasted this long? You must feel the draw, the need to be close."

"We do, but you or Mrs. Hudson, or Mycroft always time their visits perfectly."

"Oh… I'm sorry about that…" Lestrade frowned. "Meh, it will happen, I know it will. It's unstoppable. Even the strongest can't resist. I would know."

"So, you and Mycroft? You were born an angel, right?"

"Yes, I was… I looked everywhere for him my first few years. My mom knew I was different, God rest her soul she was a saint, moved us around everywhere. I kept praying to find him, kept begging to find him. I could feel my bond with Mycroft, but I couldn't find him and I hated it. I was ten when I found out I was a messenger. I was about to ask mom to move again when I heard the voice as clear as a bell. The words were the equivalent of: 'Sit down and stay put. I will tell you when to move. You will be there when you need to be. My plan is perfect, trust me, idiot.'"

"Sound's about right." John chuckled. "So how did you find him?"

"Nearly seven years ago…" Lestrade stated, looking down sadly. "It was just before the worst moment in the Holmes' family history, I got there right in time to help Mycroft as much as I could."

"What happened?"

"Perhaps you should ask Sherlock about it… It's not my story to tell."

"Does it have to do with that Jasper person Mycroft mentioned?"

"It has nearly everything to do with him…but nothing to do with him at the same time. I'm surprised you don't know the story yet. I knew nearly everything about Mycroft a week in, but then again, Sherlock's a bit different. I've been hovering over his shoulder for years and I still don't get it."

"You've been protecting him?"

"As much as I can, the poor sod needed someone to watch out for him. You can't imagine how many demons he gets himself tangled up with." Lestrade shook his head. "I met Mycroft seven years ago…" He said, getting back on topic. "We clicked instantly and were practically attached to each other. In the first week I knew more about the Holmes family than any outsider could possibly imagine. I didn't get to meet any of them until about a year and a half later… I found Sherlock in the streets, overdosed on cocaine and high as a kite, but still the most observant man, short of Mycroft, I've ever met. I knew instantly who he was and called Mycroft. Half a year later everything hit the fan. I'm surprised you weren't called to Sherlock's aid then. Have any near-death experiences about five years ago?"

"One, nothing serious. The Angel of Justice showed up and stopped me, it was my first tour."

"Ah… You were meant to die, but something changed His mind. Just as well, everyone made it through…well, I say everyone." Lestrade sighed. "Do you know your abilities?"

"I'm a healer." John nodded.

"That makes sense. How did you find that out?"

"I just know. I just feel it." John stated.

"You're gift has limits, be careful not to overstep them, you could kill people that way."

"So very true."

"Are you a decent flyer?"

"I'm fast."

"I'd imagine, based on your size, you must be fast and agile as hell. You're a fighter to boot as well, you've really got something bad ahead of you."

"I noticed." John frowned. "So basically, protect Sherlock…destroy demons…and try not to die?"

"Isn't that every angel's job?" Lestrade chuckled. "The 'real' Angels don't have to worry about the dying part though, go figure we're both half-lings in this city of demons."

"Yeah, that's my luck…" John scoffed.

"When are you going to tell him?"

"Tonight…the sooner the better." John nodded.

"He'll be skeptical, you'll have to show him proof, he's a scientific man." Lestrade warned.

"How did you tell Mycroft?"

"Oh, you know, the usual way. I took him out of the city and spread my wings a bit." Lestrade's eyes twinkled before they dimmed. "John, your wings, be careful with them. You were reborn…which means your wings are the source of your life…if they're hurt…I fear what will happen to you."

"Your wings aren't your life then?"

"No… I'm on my third pair… I was born like this. You weren't…you're more fragile when it comes to your wings. Be careful with them. Wouldn't want a demon to grab them…"

"I won't let them." John smiled. "Thank you, Lestrade."

"Greg…you're part of the family now, John." Lestrade smiled warmly. "Know that family will protect you, if you ever need help. I have a feeling we're all about to go through Hell and back, but we'll do it together."

"Thank you, Greg."

"Keep Sherlock in line, won't you?" Lestrade teased.

* * *

**Oh, and I extended a challenge on AO3 for this story and I thought it wrong that I didn't mention it on here, but honestly my mind's been a jumble. I have found that I love to inspire creativity in others and if anyone wants to get creative with my story and do something pertaining to my story (pictures, drawings, art, poems, videos, ect-pretty much anything artistic-and send it to me somehow, via the blog (or if you PM me with the link ect) I will look at all of them and reward you with a sneak peak at either the epilogue of this story or the first chapter of the story that will come after this one. So get creative! I love creativity... The world needs more of it, so I hope this inspires you a bit. :D **

**Much love to all of you!**


	7. Honesty

**I am excited for this chapter... So much it hurts.**

**I don't own Sherlock, by the way. **

* * *

Honesty

John walked up the seventeen steps and hung his coat up before he heard a voice. "Hello John, you're back sooner than I expected."

"Hello, Sherlock." John smiled warmly at Sherlock, who was laying on the sofa in his blue dressing gown.

"Only one drink then… Good I can still talk to you."

"About what?" John wondered, sitting in his chair, resting against his pillow.

"I've realized that some things should be said before…we…move forward."

"Good because I have something to tell you." John agreed.

"Let me tell you first...because it's really important and I might lose my nerve."

"Lose your nerve? That doesn't sound like you."

"Shut up." Sherlock flashed a glare at him before getting up and pacing back and forth.

"Sherlock…are you alright?"

"I'm fine… This is just, difficult…"

"Take your time." John said simply. Sherlock kept pacing back and forth through the room. It was silent for several minutes and Sherlock finally stopped pacing before his grey eyes met John's blue eyes.

"I have a son, John."

The words hit John in a strange way. They confused him.

"I thought you were… It doesn't matter if you aren't, but I thought you said—" John would never look down on Sherlock if he wasn't a virgin, John knew he himself wasn't—exactly—a saint, but it bothered him that Sherlock hadn't told him.

"No—I am, I told you I was, and it's true, I w-wasn't lying."

"Donation then, adopted?" John wondered, curious.

"Neither…umm…" Sherlock Holmes was speechless. His jaw opened and closed several times before it closed completely and a sad look appeared on his face. "It's hard for me to talk about." Sherlock said before sitting back down on the couch, his head in his hands. John couldn't stand to see Sherlock so stressed. He got up and knelt in front of Sherlock, his waist touching Sherlock's knees as he gently ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, tender and sweet.

"It's okay, Sherlock…"

"Why is everything okay with you? Why do I feel fine around you when I know I normally wouldn't?" Sherlock sighed, relaxing into John's soothing touch. His whole body unraveled as John's warm hands massaged his scalp.

"What's his name?" John asked quietly.

"Hamish. Hamish Jasper Holmes." Sherlock said, a small smile spreading across his face. John laughed.

"My middle name's Hamish."

"Really?" Sherlock wondered.

"Yes, really." John nodded. Sherlock looked at John and smiled, before sighing heavily.

"It started with Sherrinford… Well, we called her Sherrin."

"Who was she?"

"My twin sister." Sherlock stated. "She was the only person I ever cared for, only person in the world I knew I could rely on. She was always the favorite in the family… She had the Holmes brain and Mummy's social grace all at the same time. Unlike My and me, she was human, she felt things. She was always a happy girl, always glowing. Literally, she sort of had a glow to her, a dim one, but it was visible… She went to Oxford and met a soldier, fell in love with him. They were married shortly after… I didn't get to know him well, I was…preoccupied with drugs mostly… Then out of the blue, six-ish years ago she called me. Sherrin was pregnant, her husband had just been shipped off…and she said she needed to talk to me. She made me the godfather of her son."

"I bet Mycroft wasn't too happy."

"That is a whole other saga." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Let's say there was nearly a custody battle… Anyway, I was off of the drugs in an instant. She'd told me no godfather of her son would be a 'drug laden idiot' so I stopped, Sherrin was the only person who could tell me what to do and get a reaction from me… When she was three months in she stopped glowing, and grew sick. The doctor's suggested that she give up the baby, that it would kill her to keep him, but she refused. She was a stubborn woman. She fought so hard and she started to win… Then her husband was killed in action. I thought she would sink, but somehow she grew more determined and pushed harder to keep herself as healthy as she could manage…in the end, she couldn't stand without My and me holding her. To this day there has never been an illness like hers, the doctor's still don't know what happened to her. She held Hamish for five minutes…then everything hit her. They gave me Hamish…and Sherrin was dead three minutes later. I'm not Hamish's father biologically, but we're very close, much how I expect a father and son should be in a normal family." Sherlock's eyes met John's and widened in shock when John pulled him into a hug. "You're not mad?"

"Of course not."

"But I've kept something from you…something huge… I thought, I thought you'd leave."

"Never, Sherlock." John promised. "Where's he been?"

"Visiting Mummy, he's due home three days from now." Sherlock nodded against John's shoulder.

"That explains why you didn't want me in that room."

"He hates it when people snoop. That drugs bust was hateful, he'll notice the door knob's changed positions. He won't be happy about that." Sherlock sighed.

"The skull…on your mantel?" John wondered slowly.

"Sherrin…well, part of her anyway. The brilliant part is missing." Sherlock said, glancing at the skull. "Do you happen to speak sign language?" Sherlock inquired.

"Why? Is Hamish—?"

"Partially, in his left ear. He was born that way. The doctors told me that his condition would likely worsen as he aged, so I made sure he could sign, just in case. Thankfully it hasn't gotten much worse. He mostly signs when he's in a mood or doesn't trust the people around him."

"I know how, well, I'm a little rusty, but I know quite a bit. Learned it in Afghanistan…" John sighed.

"So… What was it you needed to tell me?"

"Would you mind going out for some air?" John wondered quietly.

8Sherlock8

"What's he like?" John asked as they rode in the cab, away from the city. Sherlock was looking outside, his eyebrows pulled together slightly, not understanding why they were heading out of town.

"Hmm?" Sherlock wondered.

"Hamish? What's he like?"

"He's like my sister; although, Lestrade insists that he gets his little 'tantrums' from me. He doesn't get upset often, he's a lot like Sherrin, very smart, but normal and sociable—if he trusts you, that is. It takes him a while to warm up, but when he does he's very loyal. We moved in to 221B about a month before you—"

"And it was still in that state?" John asked, appalled.

"I've been a bit busy…" Sherlock shrugged. "Never mind that. He'd never met Mrs. Hudson before and when he first met her, he didn't talk to her, he just looked her up and down and sat back on the sofa. I knew her better, I trusted her. I had to explain to her that she wasn't to blame, that Hamish just warms up slowly to people, but three days after we moved in Hamish was making cookies with her in her flat. He warmed up to her rather quickly. She's like a grandmother to him and, thankfully, she's always there when I can't be home. Normally he went to his uncles' home when I went out, but I think he's spent too much time with Mycroft as it is." John laughed and shook his head.

"He doesn't like people in his room. Why?"

"Pretty much everything Sherrin left him is in that room. He keeps everything meticulously pristine. He even has one of her old stuffed animals. He hates it when someone touches the things she made for him. There's even one thing I'm not allowed to touch. Usually when he warms up to people he isn't as territorial."

"What doesn't he let you touch?" John wondered.

"There's a piano, back at Mummy's that no one's allowed to touch. It was hers and she willed it to him. He doesn't let anyone shy of a tuner touch it, and they have to wear gloves. He's excellent with the piano, he reminds me of Sherrin in that way." Sherlock smiled before he glanced out the window at a very empty part of town, abandoned and run down. "Why are we here?"

"Trust me, just this once. Stop right here." John said, the cabbie pulled over and looked at him questioningly. "I can take care of myself, it's alright. I was a soldier."

"You were a doctor." Sherlock protested as John paid the cabbie.

"Doesn't mean I wasn't a damn good sniper." John stated before getting out. Sherlock slowly got out of the cab and followed John into an abandoned building. He knew he should feel uncomfortable, or at least uneasy in the dark buildings. He knew he should be glancing around, searching for any signs of trouble, but with John walking confidently ahead of him, he felt completely at ease. He followed John up the stairs and onto the roof and John sat down on the ledge, looking out at the city.

"What are we doing here?"

"You have your secrets, I have mine; however I wouldn't want anyone else to know, and the flat's a bit too small."

"Why here?" Sherlock asked, sitting next to John.

"Well, I don't expect anyone to be watching who isn't drugged out of their mind or slightly insane, so I figured I could talk here." John frowned. "You're not nervous are you? I'm not a serial killer or anything." John promised.

"Obviously." Sherlock rolled his eyes. John, a serial killer? Impossible.

"Thank you for thinking that to be obvious." John giggled and Sherlock smiled fondly at the giggle. "I don't really know how to tell you this, but I should start from the beginning I guess. I've always been a religious person, and I know you scoff at religion, but please listen." John warned as Sherlock opened his mouth. "It's important to my story. I suppose I don't necessarily follow a specific religion—that's just politics and no one knows if they are actually reading the texts correctly, so to hell with all of the politics of religion—but I've always believed in God and His Son and that I should try to be as good a person as I can be. Understand?"

"You wanted the belief, but not the ties to the people who act religious when it suits them."

"Yeah, I'm no saint, I'm going to sin and cock things up, but I understand that and don't try to judge others for their sins." John shrugged. "In Afghanistan I met a man who was similar in beliefs to me, we got on well. He was an American and a police officer. He had a bit more of an extended view of things, like angels and demons and all sorts of things, but I never believed him. One day though, I was driving a few men back to base and something appeared right next to me, grabbed my arm and forced me to turn down a back road. Had we continued on our normal route, we would have died."

Sherlock scoffed.

"Please, just don't. I'm telling you the truth." John said, looking into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock's eyebrows pulled together when he saw the truth in John's eyes, his pupils didn't spasm when he spoke; he was telling the truth. "My friend told me he was an angel, something the police call the Angel of Justice."

"I've heard Lestrade use the same name."

"Apparently military men and police officers see him a lot. I was told he was supposed to save lives, but I only saw him a few times… He wasn't there when I really needed him." John sighed. "It the last day I fought was terrible. Car bombs were going off everywhere, snipers killing, children being held at gunpoint, children strapped to explosive, soldiers screaming for help..." John took a deep breath before he continued. "It was hell. I wasn't supposed to go back, but someone was missing, a woman from America. I found her, she was shot in the thigh, but nothing I couldn't fix; she was going to be perfect. She had a little boy named Tyler she wanted to go home to, but before I could finish putting her together a sniper shot her right between her eyes. I ran, hid from the view of the sniper, and grabbed my gun… Then I thought I was saved. I thought I had backup. His name was Colonel Moran, he was older than me. We were on shaky terms, we had a sniping contest and I beat him, the young blood beating the veteran at his best game was not a good experience for him, but we got along outside of our rivalry. He is a good sniper an artist with a gun, I'm not going to lie about that. He was damn brilliant."

"But?" Sherlock wondered.

"He wasn't backup. He shot me in the shoulder. Told me I was a threat and left me to bleed out, all alone. Colonel Moran murdered me."

"But you're not dead. That's not murder…"

"I was, they say it was twenty minutes, but that was from the time they found me, so I estimate I was dead around thirty five minutes when all was said and done." John said slowly. "That counts as murder doesn't it?"

Sherlock couldn't answer him, he was too busy thinking of what his life would have been like had he never met John. He'd be dead, most likely. Hamish would have been without another parent. Sherlock would have never opened his heart to anyone outside of his godson. Life would have been empty, cold. It scared Sherlock to even imagine it. Something inside of him screamed that it would be wrong to not have John at his side for the rest of his life.

"Sherlock?"

"You wouldn't have woken up. You bled out, it isn't the same as drowning, you would have lost too much blood."

"I did lose too much. The lovely doctor was stitching me up to send me home when I woke up. Imagine our surprise."

"That's not possible."

"Listen, this is going to be hard for you to understand at first, but let me show you before I tell you, or else we'll be in a debate for ages." John sighed, he pulled his jumper off before unbuttoning his shirt. Sherlock was confused, he knew there was a wound, he didn't need to see it, but he was curious to see the scar and how he had been shot, to better understand what had happened to John. The instant the shirt was completely off, Sherlock stepped forward, looking at the scar, touching it gently. John's face turned red, no one short of doctors had seen his wound, he was extremely subconscious about it, but the way Sherlock looked at it made him feel both insecure and cherished at the same time. He was looking at it like it was something important, special.

"You would have bled out in four minutes, your left arm would have been immobile. The bullet shatters, part of it went all the way through, but most of it was left in shards in your shoulder… You pulled out the shards yourself. You tried to save yourself." Sherlock whispered. While he had been most captivated by the wound, he hadn't missed the sight of John's—still army-trim—torso.

"You amaze me." John chuckled.

"Two minutes in, you would have been dizzy, losing consciousness, too much blood gone. You wouldn't have had time to heal what had been done."

"'Please God, let me live.' Then everything went black and then…well, that is a completely different story, or the same one, I'm not quite sure yet." John frowned. "As much as I would love to have you stare at that scar for as long as you found it entertaining…that actually wasn't what I wanted to show you."

"It wasn't?" Sherlock wondered. He though John had been giving him a way of showing him he'd actually died.

"If it were that simple, we could have stayed at Baker Street." John sighed heavily before he rolled his shoulders. For a split second pain tore at the muscles in his shoulders, then relief and freedom, pure and warm.

Sherlock stared at him for a solid minute, his pupils blown wide with shock, before he reached out to touch the white wings. The first thing Sherlock noticed was their warmth. The second he felt was the soft texture, softer than the finest silk. The third thing Sherlock noticed was that his whole body was on fire and tingling and freezing at the same time.

"Sherlock…" John grabbed his hand gently. He vaguely remembered that his wings would be very sensitive to his soul mate, but he didn't know that a simply touch could make the entire universe shift. A warm golden light had formed around Sherlock at the touch and Sherlock had gone extremely still, his body covered in goosebumps. "Sherlock…?" John called. It looked like Sherlock was in shock. John pulled Sherlock into a warm hug, their bodies pressed together as John's wings instinctively wrapped around them, creating a warm shield for both of them. After a few minutes, Sherlock's body slowly began to relax and, in turn, John relaxed, slowly pulling away from Sherlock, his wings pulling away as he let go of him.

"What was that?"

"Wings?" John suggested, not knowing what else to say.

"No…that feeling? What was it?" Sherlock asked. "It was like everything at once, hot and cold, explosion and implosion, everything."

"Oh…sorry that was the bond forming."

"What bond?" Sherlock wondered.

"I'm your guardian angel." Sherlock looked into John's eyes before circling around him, making sure the wings were—in fact—attached to his body. Sherlock gently stroked a wing as he circled back around and John shivered. "Ooo, that feels, strange, but stunningly nice. It's not normally pleasant to have someone touch my wings."

"It isn't?" Sherlock wondered, examining the soft down.

"No, it's normally very uncomfortable."

"Wait, you've shown others?"

"Only one, my sister. She kicked me out, freaked out, still won't talk to me. It's not like I'm a demon, I'm one of the good guys, surprising, but you know, I am."

"Why is that surprising?" Sherlock wondered, his eyebrows scrunched up.

"You haven't deduced it yet?" John asked with wide eyes. "Well, let's just say I wasn't raised by the best people and I certainly had every chance to go wrong."

"Sins of the father do not always settle on their children, at least I hope not." Sherlock frowned. "So…you're here for what? To protect me?"

"I guess…it's a little vague. I don't really remember a lot, that's why I went to Lestrade, I knew he'd have my answers."

"Lestrade?"

"He's an angel, Mycroft's angel, though he was born an angel so he knew a lot more than I did. I don't remember much about being dead. I remember a voice and peace… I remember being so angry and demanding to be sent back here, but I don't remember why I was angry. Like I said, I don't remember much, I knew vague rules, but Lestrade had to fill me in on everything else and I still have questions."

"So you're meant to protect me…from what?"

"Honestly? War, hell, pain…everything." John turned and looked out at London. "It's dark here, so many people going bad, so many demons running around, and they hate men like you." John stated. "You tear apart their numbers, give them less souls to feed on and their starting to notice you. The cabbie, he was possessed by a demon. The only reason the aneurism hadn't killed him yet was because the demon was making him live, turning him into something far worse than what he was. They're going to start coming after you."

"Plenty of people have wanted me dead, what makes this so different?" Sherlock wondered.

"Because now I'm here. You were just one man and they knew they could get rid of you. But now they're not dealing with one man, they're dealing with something powerful."

"You?" Sherlock asked.

"Well," John smirked, "I am pretty powerful, but I was referring to us. We're soul mates and together they won't be able to stop us."

Sherlock went silent.

* * *

**Hamish Jasper Holmes! :D Whoo!**

**And why's Sherlock quiet...?**

**Oh, and about that challenge, I'm thinking a deadline around New Years, in honor of Series 3, but I'll let you know if I change my mind, I do that...sometimes.**

**Much love to all of you!**


	8. Truth and Memories Come Back

**I'm sorry this is so late. I had a family emergency and have been otherwise occupied. Everyone's alright, but we're getting things sorted still... Um, because of the delay that challenge will be backed up, I don't know when to, but I'll figure it out. I'm still a little bit topsy-turvy right now, but things are getting better. I really loved writing this chapter for you guys.**

**It may seem like the relationship is moving too fast, but honestly when Sherlock wants something do you think he won't seize it before anyone gets their hands on it?**

**I don't own Sherlock, by the way. **

**To the Reviewer(s):**

**Misha: Thank you for loving it. Only Mycroft calls him Jasper, the posh sod. Everyone else calls him Hamish. I'll explain why he has that name later. There's more to Sherrin than what met Sherlock's eyes. I really want John to meet Hamish, it's going to be brilliant.**

**AsamiAkihito: Thank you! I was hoping to get a bit of that reaction, because it's Sherlock? Why in the world would he have a son? Ha-ha. I feel bad for Sherrin too... I actually really like her.**

**marketeerbubbles: "oooh" as in good or "oooh" as in meh?**

* * *

Truth and Memories Come Back

Sherlock was silent the whole way back to 221B and it made John nervous. He could see and feel the tension in the air. It was present in the way Sherlock held himself, stiff and stoic. The man was usually restless, but now he was absolutely still. John first thought it was Sherlock trying to deal with the shock, the sudden shift in his world, the fact that something he believed wasn't real had just been proved in front of his eyes, but when his silence persisted as they walked up the stairs of 221B, John was sure it had to be something else.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?" John wondered, touching Sherlock's shoulder gently. Sherlock pulled away instantly and sat on the couch, wrapping his arms around his legs. It stung John that he'd pulled away, but John tried to hold his hurt off of his face.

"What did you mean?" Sherlock asked after a few minutes. John sat in his chair and looked at Sherlock curiously.

"About what, Sherlock?"

"You know perfectly well what."

"Actually, I don't. There's only one genius in this room and we're short mind-readers, so unless you tell me what you're thinking, I haven't the faintest idea." John corrected, leaning forwards, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers laced together.

"Soul mate. What does that mean?" Sherlock snapped. "Is that some way of saying that whomever sent you back made it so you'd care about me? That you wouldn't normally on your own? That you're forced to—?"

"Nope—no—Sherlock…no." John said, shaking his head. "That's not it at all. I'm not forced to care about you, I'm at all forced, in any way. Listen…soul mates has nothing to do with me being an angel—the fact that I am one just makes me more aware of it—of our connection. It's purely a human thing, two people who make the best of each other. They can come in any form, really. A brother and sister, a father and son, a pair of friends, a romantic relationship… It's a perfect match, two people whose lives were meant to be intertwined. Two people whose personalities and life experiences balance each other… It's how you lived your life that determines them, not God, He gave us the right to choose how to act, and because of our choices this is where we stand. Had I never died in Afghanistan and I met you the way I should have, this connection, this chemistry would still exist. I'm not forced to care about you, I simply do. Everything about you leaves me in awe, makes me want to be smarter and faster and more brilliant. God I'm not even gay and just looking at you makes me crazy, not to mention hearing your voice. No, there's nothing forced about this. I'm too damn stubborn to be forced into anything, this is all us, something so perfect I don't want to fight it and I don't think I will."

"John…I…um—"

"Sherlock Holmes is speechless. I should mark the date and time." John smiled. He stood up and gently pressed his lips to the top of Sherlock's head of dark, wind-blown, curls. John moved to take a step towards the kitchen, to make a cuppa for Sherlock when he noticed the chill on Sherlock's skin, but Sherlock gripped him tightly, not letting him go. Sherlock slowly loosened his grip and gently cupped John's face before pulling him into a kiss.

"You make me want to be human…warm…happy." Sherlock whispered. "And although you're jumpers are hideous—"

"They're comfortable!" John protested.

"There's something about you…" Sherlock smiled before kissing him again. "I've never felt like this before. I mean… Before Hamish, I didn't really feel anything except for my sister, but I love Hamish and he made me feel more like a normal person, but you…you make me feel alive…so, so very alive."

"You too." John grinned. "Now, you need a cuppa and don't you dare say no. You're cold and I don't want you getting sick—"

"I think I know a better way to warm up." Sherlock commented.

"Do you now?" John asked with a smirk, pressing a passionate, heated kiss against Sherlock's lips. "Yours or mine?"

"Ours?" Sherlock wondered hopefully.

"Ours." John agreed.

8Sherlock8

_A woman stood before a mirror. She was tall and slender, her beautiful curves showcased in the white dress that hugged her torso before loosening its grip on her as it flowed towards the ground. Her long dark hair was pinned half-up, allowing for some curls to cascade down her back._

_"You look nervous." Sherlock said gently. The woman turned and smiled, her gray-blue eyes full of light. Anyone who saw them would know they were twins, their faces were nearly identical, only Sherrin's was not quite so angular. _

_"Excited." Sherrin corrected._

_"You're still glowing." Sherlock commented._

_"I do that, sometimes." Sherrin shrugged. _

_"Now brighter than ever."_

_"Help me into my shoes?" Sherrin wondered with a smile._

_"Of course." Sherlock nodded. He knelt down and helped her slide the heels on gently._

_"You know, I think you'll find someone soon." Sherrin commented._

_"I don't do sentiment."_

_"You like me well enough." Sherrin stated. "And don't say it's only out of brotherly duty, I know you love me, Sher."_

_"Perhaps…I do a little sentiment." Sherlock sighed._

_"I think you will meet someone, perhaps parallel to me. Perhaps he'll be a soldier as well."_

_"What makes you so sure it will be a he?" Sherlock asked._

_"You distrust women. You're chivalrous towards them, but you distrust the sex. Besides, men are more difficult and don't wear their lives on their sleeves, you'd at least have something to look for in a man."_

_"Quite an elaborate deduction."_

_"Mm, a solider indeed." Sherrin smiled gently to herself, looking at something far away. "You know how I say things sometimes and they come true…well, when this happens and you meet you're soldier, make sure to credit me for it, because I saw it coming first."_

_"Sherrin…" Mycroft's voice filled the room, it was warm, rather than stiff as usual._

_"My! You made it!" Sherrin giggled and ran forward, wrapping her arms around him tightly._

_"I'd never miss my sister's wedding."_

_"You missed it, Sherlock gave the best speech last night. He's been absolutely wonderful." Sherrin grinned. Mycroft looked at Sherlock and frowned. He could see it in his little brother, he was using again._

_"Sherlock—"_

_"I'm not—"_

_"Yes you—"_

_"Boys, stop it! Both of you." Sherrin demanded and both of them went silent, looking repentant. "This is my wedding, so be nice to each other or I'll tie you together for the rest of the day and make you smile."_

_"I don't think I could stomach it." Sherlock scoffed._

_"Well, then, don't test me." Sherrin smiled, holding out her arms to her brothers. "Walk me down the aisle?"_

_"Of course."_

_"Yes, Sherrin." Sherlock smiled warmly, taking her arm in his._

_…_

_"Sherlock, I need you to come over."_

_"Now?" Sherlock wondered, his hands were shaking, his mind was finally controlled, contained. He knew well enough that Sherrin wouldn't want to see him like this. She would never want to see him high._

_"Yes, please, come over, I need to talk to you, it's very important."_

_"Ask Carl, I'm sure he can help."_

_"Sherlock…" Sherrin's voice grew sad. "He's been gone, he was shipped off to Iraq, don't you remember? I told you that."_

_"Must've deleted it."_

_"Just, come over please. I need to talk to you. Sherlock, it's important. Where's my brother gone? Years ago I could have thought your name from another planet and you'd know I needed you, now when I really need to talk to you, you're gone…"_

_"Sherrin…"_

_"If you'd rather shoot up again, then go ahead! I'll find someone else!" Sherrin's voice was dripping with sorrow and anger. It stabbed Sherlock harder than anything else could._

_"No, no, no…. I'll—I'll be there, I promise. Twenty minutes…"_

_…_

_"So…um, I don't know how to tell you this, so I'll just say it. I'm pregnant." Sherrin stated._

_"Good for you…" Sherlock said slowly. He didn't like children, they were fussy and distracting._

_"As you know, my husband is Iraq and could, potentially, not come home. And…"_

_"What is it?"_

_"Remember when I got really sick when I was thirteen? I was in the hospital for weeks."_

_"I remember it." Sherlock stated. He'd been terrified for his sister. He'd done nothing but pace and pray to gods he didn't believe in for her to get better._

_"It sort of…damaged me, so there could be complications with…everything… Umm… I wanted to make you the godfather of my child, just in case." Sherrin stated._

_"You won't die."_

_"Well, just as well, I want to be cautious." Sherrin nodded before she strode up to Sherlock and poked him in the chest. "You will be getting clean. I don't want the godfather of my child to be a drug laden idiot. There's a reason I chose you, but I can change my mind if you don't straighten up your act. I know you can beat the drugs, you just don't want to. Well, now you have an excuse. I suspect you'll stop." It sounded much more like a demand._

_…_

_"They want me to give my baby up." Sherrin cried into Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her back gently. "They say that if I keep my baby I could die. They think that my baby is the reason why I'm sick. They don't know what's wrong, but they want me to get rid of my baby."_

_"They're idiots. We'll find you a new doctor, Sher. We'll find someone, someone who can make you feel better. It will be okay…and you can keep the baby."_

_"I don't want to lose my baby, don't let them take my baby from me." Sherrin pleaded, shaking against Sherlock, holding onto his suit tightly._

_"No one will ever touch you, I promise."_

_…_

_Sherrin was sitting in her chair when her door opened and Mycroft walked in. "My!" Sherrin beamed, slowly standing up, her hand on her slightly rounded stomach._

_"Hello, Sher." Mycroft smiled warmly and wrapped his arms around her. "I trust you're doing well?" Mycroft's eyes glanced at Sherlock before looking at his sister again._

_"Yes, Sherlock's been keeping an eye on me. You'd never believe how domestic—How wonderful!" Sherrin exclaimed with wide eyes. "When can I meet him?"_

_"What?" Mycroft wondered._

_"Oh, don't be an idiot. It's obvious by the red mark on your neck, the length of the hair on the collar of your suit, your gait, and your obnoxiously chipper air that there is someone and that this one's important. As you're practically wearing his cologne." Sherrin and Sherlock said at the exact same time. The twins smiled at each other, they'd been talking like that for years. "When can I meet him? What's his name?" Sherrin added, her face warm._

_"Sergeant Lestrade…judging by the cologne, very distinct and a rare combination of scents." Sherlock commented._

_"The one who let you go even though you were high?" Sherrin wondered._

_"Indeed." Mycroft stated._

_"Only because I helped him with a case." Sherlock stated. "He's not too much of an idiot, I suppose."_

_"How wonderful. However, I'm upset that I haven't met him yet. Tomorrow when you come back, bring him along. I would love to meet the one who makes my big brother so happy." Sherrin smiled and hugged Mycroft again._

_…_

_Sherrin absolutely adored Lestrade, and Lestrade seemed to hover over Sherrin as though she was his long lost sister that needed to be protected above everything else. The way he acted around her was strange and very protective._

_…_

_"We shouldn't tell her." Mycroft stated. "Please, her body is already taking a heavy toll, let's not ruin her heart."_

_"She's deserves to know Mycroft, she would want to know." Sherlock insisted. "She'll read it out of us anyway."_

_"She does deserve to know Myc…" Lestrade whispered gently, rubbing the back of Mycroft's neck. Instantly Mycroft relaxed into the touch, all of his tension leaving him. "It would be better for her to know the truth." Mycroft nodded at Lestrade before the three of them entered Sherrin's home. Sherrin was in the kitchen, trying to put a pan in a cupboard and struggling with it. Sherlock instantly moved forward and put the dish away from her._

_"Thank you, Sherlock… I'm tired today and… What is it?" Sherrin asked, looking between the three men in her kitchen. Her eyes settled on Mycroft and her eyes grew watery. "No…no…" She shook her head and tears began to spill down her cheeks. "Not him…no…"_

_"Sher…" Sherlock pulled his sister into a tight hug and she began to sob into his shoulder, unable to stop. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry."_

_"We shouldn't have…this stress isn't good for her." Mycroft said, frustrated and hurt at the sight of his sister's distress._

_"No, no…" Sherrin sniffled. "I'm glad you told me… I'm glad… I…I can handle this… I can… I can…" Lestrade moved forward and gently put his arm on Sherrin's. Her body began to relax and she smiled at him warmly. "Thank you, Greg." Sherrin said, trying to stop her tears. "I need some rest… I want to sleep for a while. I'll be fine… I promise… Everything will be fine."_

_…_

_"Ouch!" Sherrin gasped, pulling her shaking hands to her lips and sucking on her bleeding thumb, trying to sooth the ache and stop the bleeding. _

_"Sherrin, you can stop…" Sherlock whispered, getting up and putting his hands gently on her knees. Sherrin was attempting to hand-stitch a quilt, but her hands were shaking from her illness, making her prone to unusually messy stitches and bleeding fingers._

_"No… I'm going to make this…for my baby boy."_

_"Sherrin, you're hurting yourself. You need to relax, prop up your feet. I can make you some tea. Would you like me to play the violin? Turn on that Josh Groban fellow you like so much? I could read you a book. Anything, you just need to rest."_

_"I'm not exactly running a marathon." Sherrin scoffed, looking at her finger that was no longer bleeding before she continued to stitch the blanket in front of her._

_"But you're exhausted! Please just—"_

_"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, there is a very small chance that I will survive much longer than my due date and very little that I can actually manage to do on my own, just allow me this, let me do something for my son, let me try to give him something that belonged to me so that maybe he'll remember me! I'm tired, scared, worried, and sick, but if one thing's for damn sure I love my baby boy and no one, not even you will stop me from trying to do all that I can to provide for him! I would love some tea and Josh Groban would be lovely to listen to, thank you." Sherrin snapped before looking back down at her stitches. _

_Sherlock was taken aback. She never snapped at him like that…and she never used his full name, she knew he hated it. He pulled away from her and went to her kitchen making her tea before turning on the CD player on a shelf as he set her cup down next to her. She looked horrible, her eyes sinking, her skin dim and pale… She was sick…and there was nothing anyone could do to help her._

_…_

_"Hamish Jasper Holmes…" Sherrin told the nurse before the bundle was placed into her arms. He was pink and small, with black hair dusting his head and dark blue eyes. Sherrin was moved to the point of tears, looking down at Hamish. "Mommy loves you so much…you're so beautiful." Sherrin kissed his head and the boy grabbed her index finger tightly, staring into her eyes. "Hamish, you're so beautiful…so perfect."_

_"Holmes?" Sherlock wondered quietly. He was sure that she would give her son her late husband's name._

_"He's a Holmes…through and through, though, perhaps with a little more to him." Sherrin smiled and kissed his head. "I love you… I will always love you… Be good to your daddy…" Sherrin whispered something else, quietly before she groaned and winced, her heart rate monitor shrieking in alarm. She looked pained as she gave her son over to Sherlock. "Take care of him. Please. Swear to me you'll take care of him. Protect him please…"_

_"I will, I promise." Sherlock stated, tears in his eyes as he looked down at Hamish. Nurses pushed Sherlock out of the room and doctors ran in, trying to save Sherrinford Annalise Holmes, but they failed._

_…_

_Sherlock glared at the black car with the dark tinted windows before dashing up to his small flat. "What are you doing here, Mycroft?" Sherlock snapped before he froze and his eyes widened in horror. "Where's Hamish?" The crib was empty. The year-old child was gone. "What have you done with him?!"_

_"I've given him a chance at a safe life, brother."_

_"Where is he?!" Sherlock demanded in a shout. _

_"I know what you did. I'm taking Jasper away from you. He deserves more than a drug addict for a father. Greg and I will take care of him. I'm sure you can visit."_

_"No! You can't do that!" Sherlock shouted. "I made a mistake. I'm sorry. I just…"_

_"You relapsed. I was far too hopeful in you… You obviously aren't fit to be Jasper's guardian."_

_"Don't call him Jasper, he likes to be called Hamish." Sherlock snapped. It was true. The infant always looked around and smiled when the word Hamish was said, and always frowned when Jasper was mentioned._

_"He'll be safe with us, not exposed to drugs that may kill him."_

_"I never brought them home! I'd never do that!"_

_"No, you'd just come home high as a kite, setting a bad example and possibly hurting him. What if you had a hallucination, what if you hurt him? I can't trust him with you."_

_"No…please, don't take him from me. I love him."_

_"You don't act like it. If you loved him you'd realize he doesn't need to lose another parent." Mycroft said slowly. "You've left me with no choice. You're shenanigans were your own at one point, but now they hold Hamish in the mix and I cannot afford to be as forgiving as I have been."_

_"I'll never do it again… I promise! I'll never touch a drug again—"_

_"You promised Sherrin that and I know you hold her in higher regard than you hold me. If you broke that promise to her, what would make me even think about believing you?"_

_"Hamish," Sherlock said simply. "Please, he's my son… He may not be mine—even though we do share nearly fifty-percent of the same DNA—but I love him, he's like my own son. He is my own son… Please don't take him from me." The tears running freely down Sherlock's cheeks. Not crocodile tears, but real ones, silent, pained, and so full of loss. "You must see it… I'm good for him and he's good for me. Please, I've made one mistake…please, Mycroft." Mycroft knew that if Sherlock were any more desperate, he'd be on his knees, kissing his shoes and begging._

_Mycroft couldn't deny that Sherlock had been good for Hamish, up until the drug use. He sighed heavily and pressed a single button on his phone._

_"I'll be watching you. If you even step into the wrong side of town or an ally way that has ever held a drug dealer I will be back and I will take Jasper with me. This is your last chance Sherlock." Mycroft said in his stern voice. "I only have his best interests at heart."_

_"I won't touch them again, I promise. I won't even think about them." Sherlock swore. The door opened and a young woman, dark skinned and beautiful, walked in, holding Hamish on her hip. "Hamish…" Sherlock walked forward and pulled him into his arm, kissing the top of his head gently, the babe's straight black hair was soft and smooth._

_"Daddy…" Hamish mumbled before curling up next to Sherlock._

_"You've been warned, Sherlock. Take care of Jasper." Hamish's lips formed a pout as Mycroft left._

_"I promise I'll be better for you… I promise…" Sherlock whispered._

8Sherlock8

John smiled gently and ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair. He was amazed that the man had slept longer than he had. The sun was poking through the windows, painting Sherlock's usually very white skin a warm shade of gold. John smiled gently. He didn't know, exactly, why he was alive again, but he was glad he chose to come back, if it meant spending his life with the incredible man next to him. Sherlock took a slightly deeper breath than normal and slowly opened his eyes.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up…" John whispered.

"It's alright…" Sherlock couldn't help but smile at John. He had always thought that relationships were messy, especially the romantic ones. He knew first-hand that family relationships could be both very tense and good, but he'd only ever seen trouble in romantic relationships. He was still wary and confused, but he couldn't help but think Sherrin was right, that sometimes two people simply clicked. "What time is it?"

"Eight-ish." John shrugged.

"Dear God." Sherlock said with wide eyes.

"What?"

"The last time I slept that long in one night I was sleeping off a concussion." Sherlock laughed gently and shook his head.

"Not funny, Sherlock." John sighed, running his hands through his curls gently before placing a gentle kiss to his lips, which Sherlock returned just as tenderly.

"It was kind of funny." Sherlock disagreed.

"You being hurt isn't funny to me." John stated simply, still running his fingers through Sherlock's hair. Sherlock hummed gently. The touch was calming to him, made him feel warm, safe, loved. It was as if no problems existed in the world. Even his mind was quite, calm, well within his complete control. "You were dreaming last night."

"I don't dream. Not in the normal sense. I look through memories and past crime scenes and evidence and cases."

"I think that you might have gone through some rough memories then…"

"A few." Sherlock acknowledged, to calm by John to care.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It was Sherrin…getting sick…and Mycroft nearly taking Hamish from me. That one hurts worse than the others." Sherlock shrugged.

"It was the last memory you had." John commented. Sherlock looked at him curiously.

"How did you know that?"

"You were fidgeting and upset…so I tried to calm you… I think I've found the spot that calms you." John nodded to his hand massaging Sherlock's scalp.

"What do you mean, 'calms me'?"

"It's one of those weird angel things." John shrugged. "A specific touch that helps to calm and comfort during times of stress, fear, or pain."

"Do you have one?" Sherlock wondered, thinking of the experiments.

"I suppose I do. Full angels don't, but I'm mostly human, so the rules are a bit different for me." Sherlock wished that he knew more about those 'rules', but he knew it would have to wait.

"I noticed the tattoo on your back… Was that from before…?" Sherlock wondered, seeing a bit of the black ink on John's shoulder. A pair of wings, separated down his spine in black.

"No… I woke up with them. It took me more time to get used to the tattoo than the actual wings."

"I like it." Sherlock smiled gently.

"Do you?"

"Mmhmm."

* * *

**Because of my slow updates, the challenge is being bumped back. I tell you the deadline when I get everything else sorted.**

**A little footnote: William Sherlock Scott Holmes is not in the original ACD works, however it is in _Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street_ by Baring-Gould, which honestly I figure could quite possibly be Sherlock's full name (at least I accept it as being canon anyway). I feel as though Sherlock would choose the more exotic of his names because of how dull and boring the others are. :)**

**Much love to all of you!**


	9. Hamish Jasper Holmes

**Merry Christmas! :D**

**I don't own Sherlock, by the way. **

**To the Reviewer(s):**

**Misha: We'll find out about Sherrin's glow later, but I can tell you it wasn't anything too obvious. She wasn't a neon sign, more of a hint of warmth and a bit of radiance to her skin. She didn't sparkle, ha-ha. I love the daddy!lock, it will be pretty amazing as the story goes on. Hamish is going to be brilliant...once he gets over some things... :)**

**AsamiAkihito: Thank you! I cried for Sherlock when Mycroft nearly took Hamish from him. It made me upset to write that... :/**

**Sendai: We will talk more about Sherrin and why she called her son Hamish later. Hamish is actually in this chapter, so smile. He's just like his father.**

* * *

Hamish Jasper Holmes

Sherlock lay back on the couch, looking frazzled and jittery. "Are you alright?" John asked, feeling the tension in the room the instant he entered it.

"Bored…" Sherlock said angrily.

"You just sat down five minutes ago." John commented, sitting in what had become _his _armchair.

"Still doesn't mean I'm entertained." Sherlock huffed, facing the back of the sofa with his knees against his chest.

"Oh really?" John wondered with a small smile. Sherlock turned around and opened his mouth.

"Yes, really, John, I'm exceptionally bored, now be qui—" Sherlock's eyes widened when he realized John was speaking in sync with him. "How are you? That's… How can you do that?" Sherlock asked, sitting up straight. John smiled before lifting his mug.

"No, you're far too bored to talk to me, continue sulking." John teased with a warm smile before he took a sip of tea.

"Can you read my mind?"

"Oh, heavens no." John shook his head. "I have a really good grasp on your emotions, but your mind is untouched by me."

"Then how—?"

"Do I know exactly how you were going to word everything you said? Angel trick. I've been working on it, thank God you haven't noticed. I've been getting a lot better at it."

"What do you do?"

"It's an angel trick, it's just a boring little—"

"John Hamish Watson—"

"Alright alright…" John chuckled. "I'm capable of mentally jumping into the future, only five seconds at most, which is actually quite difficult, but it's a way for me to be able to react faster than everyone else, so that I can protect you better." John smiled.

"Mentally jump, like seeing the future?"

"Almost like that. It's more detailed, but it's nice."

"What if I change my mind several times about what I'm going to do in the next five seconds?" Sherlock wondered with a smirk.

"I'll know what you do before you do it, Sherlock. It's absolute, no amount of mind changing will change the outcome I see." John chuckled.

"Only five seconds though? That doesn't seem like a lot."

"I'm very fast." John smiled.

"I'd like to test that—"

"No experiments with my wings, that's an end to it." John said sharply. Sherlock frowned and didn't mention a thing. John never got snappy with him, but he supposed an angel would be rather attached to their wings, so he didn't press John. John relaxed, seeing the slight frown on Sherlock's face and the tense strain on his muscles. "Sorry, that was unnecessarily harsh." John sighed.

"No, I understand. They must be precious to you."

"That's one way of putting it." John chuckled, taking a sip of tea. Sherlock's eyebrows pulled together slightly.

_So there's more to the wings… Something special. _"Anything else? I take it that isn't the only thing you can do…"

"I can sense auras, tell possessed people from true demons and angels. I'm an angel of healing, go figure." John rolled his eyes.

"Healing?"

"Yeah, I—" John's eyes caught a small, nearly fading cut on Sherlock's forearm and he stood up, reaching forward to press his hand against the spot. Sherlock felt warmth flood his entire body before John pulled away. "I can fix things." John shrugged. Sherlock looked down before he ran his fingers over his arm, looking for the cut. It was no longer there.

"How—?"

"Pretty cool, huh?" John smiled. "That doesn't mean you get to go around hurting yourself on purpose, it takes a lot from me to do that, so don't tempt me to use it that often. There's a limit on it, so try to avoid too much trouble." John chuckled.

"It takes energy from you?"

"Life force. I'm a healer so I heal very quickly from nearly every human ailment you can think of. I can heal you by taking your wounds unto myself before my body heals them. As I said, don't go getting yourself shot every day, it would hurt me just as much as it hurts you, even if I do heal faster."

"I wouldn't do that."

"I know." John smiled warmly. "Not bored anymore?"

"Thinking…" Sherlock stated, laying down on the sofa and looking up at the ceiling. John looked at Sherlock and smiled gently, the void that had once been around him was bright and warm now, a clear message to those who might try to hurt him that he was protected. "What are you looking at?"

"You," John chuckled.

"You were looking around me, not at me. Ah—the aura thing. I assume that's what you're looking at then. It's changed somehow then…for the better?"

"Much better." John agreed.

"Demons, can they see them?" Sherlock wondered.

"Yes, most demons back off a bit when they see someone who's got an angel."

"And yet there's still crimes—"

"Not all evil comes from demons, humans can be just as destructive." John corrected. Sherlock's phone went off and he smiled.

"On that note, we've got a case." Sherlock grinned, getting up and heading to what had very quickly become their room.

"We?" John asked. Sherlock turned and looked at him.

"Of course, we. Unless…you don't—"

"I'd love to." John smiled.

"Good…" Sherlock cleared his throat. "Good."

8Sherlock8

Sherlock and John walked onto the crime scene and Lestrade smiled at Sherlock and John. "Hello you two." Lestrade smirked smugly.

"Alright, enough with the smugness." Sherlock stated simply.

"What? I _am _a detective you know, I do notice some things and occasionally use them against you. Are you doing alright?" Lestrade wondered curiously.

"A little out of my element, trying to wrap my head around the God concept, but once you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." Sherlock commented. John smiled gently at Sherlock.

"You're glowing." Lestrade chuckled.

"Oh, so you didn't observe, you merely saw, got it, not as great of a detective as you insist, crime scene?" Sherlock demanded.

"You haven't changed much, I had held out hope that John might mellow you a bit." Lestrade sighed, lifting the tape.

"That's not my job." John laughed, following Sherlock under the tape.

"I know, still can have hope though." Lestrade smiled. "Five minutes, Sherlock." Lestrade stated as they approached the body of a man.

"John?" Sherlock asked. John glanced at Lestrade who shrugged and John knelt down to inspect the body.

"Blunt force trauma but—"

"But?"

"It's not the cause of death." John told Sherlock.

"What? Not?" Lestrade wondered.

"No, it happened shortly after death, that's why it appears like it was the cause of death…so crime of passion?" John suggested, looking up at Sherlock.

"Good, continue?"

"Cyanide." John stated. "You can smell it faintly. His lungs must have been failing, heart rate slow."

"I can't smell anything." Lestrade commented.

"Not everyone can smell it." John shrugged. "That's why it's clever." Sherlock's eyes ran over the body and looked through some of his things.

"The ex-wife's new fiancée, but she doesn't know anything about it." Sherlock told Lestrade after a minute.

"Explain?" Lestrade wondered as a black car came down the road.

"You can see the place where his wedding ring was. Based on the tan it was worn religiously for a long time before being taken off three months ago, based on the coloration of the skin where it used to be. So recently divorced—"

"Daddy," a young voice called happily. A little boy broke past Donovan and ducked under the tape. The boy had dark hair that fell flat against his head, with a slight curl at the ends. His eyes were bright blue/grey and full of intelligence. Sherlock turned and his face broke into a warm smile. The boy jumped and landed in his father's arms, resting his head against his chest, wrapping his arms and legs around his father's torso. Hamish smelt something strange on Sherlock's clothes, but didn't mention it.

"Hello, Hamish." Sherlock sighed warmly, kissing the top of the boy's head gently. The sight made John smile. It was uncanny the resemblance the Holmes boys shared. John was sure that he was nearly looking at exactly how Sherlock once looked, except Hamish was glowing just fine, his own guardian angel still intact. "How was grand-mummy's?"

"Good. Though, she had guests over, you know how she gets. I got to play the piano too, grand-mummy gave me some more music, Bach this time… She just doesn't understand I prefer Beethoven." Hamish sighed. "Uncle Myc brought me home, well, here. Close enough to home." Hamish grinned. "Do you have this one solved?" Hamish asked in a conspiring whisper.

"Yes, I do." Sherlock smiled warmly.

"He's divorced right?" Hamish asked after glancing at the body.

"Yes…" Sherlock beamed. Lestrade cleared his throat. Sherlock gently put Hamish down.

"Hi, Uncle Greg." Hamish beamed.

"Hey, kiddo." Lestrade smiled and then gave him a serious look.

"I know, I know. I'll go wait behind the tape." Hamish rolled his eyes before he walked away, heading for the black car again.

"He gets more like you every day." Lestrade sighed heavily.

"He's like his mother." Sherlock commented. "Sometimes it's like watching her grow up all over again." Sherlock said before he looked down at the body again. "As I was saying, he was recently divorced and managed to retain the custody of his two children, judging by the contents of his shopping, he isn't the type of man for children's snacks, so obviously he's still got the children, and for more than just the weekend based on the quantity. So obviously it was a messy divorce because the courts almost always hand the children to their mother without a fuss. The fact that he has a picture of his family in his wallet and the mother is still in the photo suggests that he still loved her, so that suggests that she fell out of love with him, a new man then. The texts on the phone from her are of desperation for her children, so she's upset which would put her current fiancée on edge and he would turn his anger on this man here." Sherlock nodded.

"But how would he get cyanide in his system?" Lestrade wondered.

"He's had a month, approximately to poison him, it's been gradual until today." Sherlock commented. "It would have taken full effect today and the fiancée made sure to be here when he died. I'm guessing this man said something that made the other man upset because afterwards the man cracked his skull open, or perhaps he merely thought he was being clever." Sherlock shrugged.

"Brilliant." John smiled at him. Sherlock smiled warmly at John in thanks before looking back at Lestrade.

"Understand or do you need it again?" Sherlock wondered.

"I've got it." Lestrade frowned. "Poor sod."

"Love is a great motivation." Sherlock shrugged before walking away from the scene, John following him.

"You must spend some time with us before school starts up." Mycroft told Hamish.

"He spends enough time with you, thanks." Sherlock called, putting his hands on Hamish's shoulders gently.

"But I like Uncle Greg." Hamish said, looking at Mycroft teasingly. Mycroft smiled at the little boy, but Hamish's eyes were elsewhere, looking John up and down with narrowed eyes.

"We should have you over, so long as it's alright with your father." Lestrade said smoothly, walking up to the four of them. "By the way, John, remind me that we have to talk about something later? I think you'd find it informative."

"I see the leg's better Dr. Watson, or is it just John?" Mycroft asked. Hamish frowned and a line appeared in-between his eyebrows.

"Whichever you prefer." John commented.

"Of course."

"Myc…" Lestrade warned, knowing that he was fishing for things he shouldn't be privy to. "Leave them alone." Suddenly Hamish was signing frantically to Sherlock. John didn't understand the first sign, but he understood a bits of the sentences he was signing, unlike Sherlock who knew every word.

_Who's he? He's not the police, he's a doctor, and everyone seems to know him. Who is he?_

_A friend, Dr. John Watson. _Sherlock signed back.

_Army. _Hamish signed back simply.

_Yes… He's a Captain._

_Was…he's been invalided. He's living at our flat isn't he? That's why you smell funny. _Hamish frowned.

_Yes, I know you don't like strangers but—_

_Why didn't you talk to me?_

_We did talk about this, Hamish._

_Not about him—_

_Hamish, I know you don't like strangers, but he isn't a bad person. I'd never let anyone harmful near you, you know that. Give him a chance._

That's when Hamish noticed that John was looking at them. Hamish huffed. Dr. John Watson could understand sign language and it set Hamish on edge. Sign language was his way of connecting to his family, and the people he trusted most, the fact that the stranger knew what they were saying upset him. Usually his conversations were private.

"Well, maybe the last week of holiday." Lestrade stated, feeling the tension in the air. Hamish simply hated being around strangers. Hamish nodded but didn't say anything. Sherlock frowned, Hamish always pulled back around strangers. He'd be lucky to hear his son's voice in a week. Hamish couldn't stand strangers.

* * *

**Much love to all of you!**


	10. You're Sleeping With Him

**Happy New Year! :D**

**I don't own Sherlock, by the way. **

**To the Reviewer(s):**

**VesperL2: Here's another chapter if it makes you feel better. :)**

**Sendai: I love how Hamish gets used to John, it's brilliant. You'll love it, because I looked at it and went: "Yup, that'll be nice." and I'm an insecure writer, so that's saying something.**

**Misha: He's not upset yet about someone being in-between him and his Daddy, he just doesn't trust other people and he's a bit insulted by John, which will be explained. The Cluedo idea could be brilliant... I can only imagine...**

**The weasel is MINE XP: Thank you!"**

* * *

You're Sleeping With Him

_Don't take it personally, he doesn't like strangers. –SH _Sherlock sent the text to John who glanced at it a few minutes later and sighed on their way to 221B. They opened the front door and Mrs. Hudson smiled warmly, holding her arms out to Hamish.

"Hamish," Mrs. Hudson beamed warmly. "So glad you're…" Hamish went directly upstairs. "Home… Oh dear, why's he so upset?"

"John," Sherlock stated gently.

"Oh, don't feel bad, John. He will warm up to you. He just doesn't trust easily, dear." Mrs. Hudson gently patted John's shoulder. "He'll come 'round."

"I don't want to be a bother—" John started.

"You're not leaving." Sherlock said, knowing exactly where John was going with his statement. "Hamish will be fine, he just needs time." Sherlock promised.

"But he's—" The door opened and little feet padded quickly down the seventeen steps. Hamish was back in the room betrayal plain on his face.

"No, no, no, Hamish…" Sherlock started instantly, knowing exactly what was wrong before the boy even opened his mouth. "It was my fault. There was a drugs bust the other day and someone went into your room, I'm sorry. I know you don't like your things touched. Uncle Greg kicked the imbecile out the instant he realized they'd gone into your room. I promise you no one else has touched anything." Hamish sighed heavily before he went back up the stairs.

"Oh dear…he isn't very talkative now is he?" Mrs. Hudson wondered.

"I don't know why strangers upset him so much. Sherrin was very open with everyone…I wonder if it's a trait Carl had growing up." Sherlock sighed. "I should go talk to him, I might be able to relax him a bit." Sherlock followed Hamish up the stairs with ease.

"I don't mean to be trouble." John sighed.

"Oh, don't worry, dear, Hamish is just cautious. He's like that with everyone. He still doesn't talk when Mrs. Turner comes over. I think it's just hard for him, I imagine it was hard for Sherlock too, growing up so smart. It could make anyone wary of people to know things about others just by looking at them. He warms up though, and when he does he doesn't let go. He'll love you. I have some treats made up for him in the fridge, make sure he knows they're there or Sherlock will eat them first." Mrs. Hudson chuckled before walking back into her own flat.

8Sherlock8

Sherlock opened Hamish's door gently before closing it and sitting on the edge of his bed. "I'm glad you're home."

_Me too. _Hamish signed back simply, looking at the objects in his room with a tint of sadness.

_Hey, look at me… _Sherlock signed. _I know you're upset, but no one can hurt the memories, okay? They may have touched some of her things, but everything is still intact, still perfect. Sherrin was resilient, an idiot couldn't scare her off._

_I know… _Hamish plopped down on his bed and pulled the pristine quilt against his chest.

_You're upset about John being here._

_Of course._

_Why, Hamish? I don't understand why you're so distant from strangers, are you afraid? Are you worried? What is it? I don't like missing things, you know that above all else. _Sherlock insisted.

_Habit. I'm not scared. But…something makes me feel cautious, and now…it's with everyone. Hard to explain. No words. _Hamish shrugged.

_He's a good man, I can tell you that._

_I'll judge that. _Hamish shrugged again.

"Are you hungry?"

_No, _he shook his head. _Uncle Myc made sure I ate before coming home. _

"So I suppose you're staying in here for the night then?" Hamish smiled. "Of course. I've missed you."

_Missed you too. Grand-mummy's is a bit stuffy… _Hamish's nose wrinkled slightly. _But I like seeing her. She misses you, you know._

"She misses Sherrin, not me. I know better than to think otherwise." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

_You may be wrong about that, daddy… No offense._

"I'm never wrong." Sherlock insisted smugly.

_Yes you are._

"Prove it." Sherlock smirked.

_Last year—_

"That was a show on the telly, it hardly has any relevance. Besides it's blasphemous."

_I like it._

"Doesn't mean I do." Sherlock countered. "Besides, just because I couldn't predict an unpredictable event doesn't mean that I was wrong."

_Yes it does. Just because you don't like something doesn't mean you can't be wrong about it._

"Stalemate?" Sherlock suggested.

_In your dreams. _Hamish smirked, the corner of his lips pulling up the exact same way that Sherlock's did.

"Get some sleep, trouble maker." Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood up, helping to pull the duvet over Hamish's small frame before turning off the light, leaving the small one in the corner on. Hamish was much older than the children his age. He wasn't afraid of the dark, however, he did like to be able to sign if he had to, and darkness didn't help him with that, so a small light always remained lit in his room, just in case. "Goodnight, Hamish."

_Goodnight._

8Sherlock8

John was completely unnerved, sitting in his armchair, as Hamish looked at him through narrowed eyes from the sofa. Sherlock looked between the two of them before he pulled a book off the shelf next to him and sat next to Hamish, starting from the very first page as he began to read aloud. Hamish instantly smiled up at Sherlock and curled up next to him, leaning against his side. The book was on crimes in the nineteenth century, go figure. John chuckled a little bit and Hamish looked at him again, a puzzled look on his face before returning his head to the spot on Sherlock's side.

"Well, that's just rubbish." Sherlock commented half-way through the second case. Hamish nodded in agreement. "They got the wrong man."

"What did I miss?" John wondered.

"The ring." Sherlock said, just as Hamish pointed to his ring finger. "There was a tan line. They called the man an adulterer and had his wife imprisoned for his murder, but he'd never taken the ring off in his life, that and the way his body was placed. No, whoever did it was trying to hurt the woman, get back at her for something. Besides he was murdered incorrectly for it to be a crime of passion. It was too calculated. Is there no end to the idiocy in the world?"

"Not while I'm around, apparently." John chuckled and shook his head. Sherlock was just too brilliant.

"There's a difference between being an idiot and being a conductor, you're the latter." Sherlock commented before he continued to read aloud. John got up and retrieved a glass of water, setting it next to Sherlock, knowing his throat would go dry after reading for too long. Sherlock didn't look up or stop reading, but he smiled slightly, a silent 'thank you'. Hamish's eyebrows pulled together slightly and he glanced at John, who'd pulled out his laptop and was typing at a steady pace.

Hamish's attention returned to his father's reading when he felt a hand gently stroke his hair. "Daddy," he protested, pulling away and straightening his hair, momentarily forgetting he didn't want to speak in front of the stranger.

"Well, I'm hardly going to keep reading if you're not going to pay attention." Sherlock teased. "That's what you get for not paying attention." Hamish wrinkled his nose, he hated having his hair ruffled, already he'd gotten a bit of his father's vanity, he liked having his hair neat at all times.

_I was paying attention._

"What was the last four sentences I read then?" Sherlock wondered. Hamish pouted and shrugged. "Exactly." Sherlock chuckled and before he turned back to the book, reading again.

John smiled gently. Sherlock was a good father. Sherlock had described how he had been before Hamish, an emotionless addict. Sherlock said Hamish is the reason why he was alive, emotionally of course, and John could see it. The way the two of them acted around each other made it very clear that the two of them were good for each other.

The door opened and Lestrade poked his head in. Hamish got up and ran for the man. Lestrade smiled and picked him up, wrapping him in a huge hug. "How're you doing, kiddo? Happy to be home?" Hamish nodded into his shoulder before Lestrade set him down.

"It's not a case." Sherlock stated.

"No, purely social, this time. Hamish forgot his bag." Lestrade said, picking up a backpack from where he'd dropped it to pick up Hamish. He smiled and gently set it down on the table. His eyes met Hamish and Hamish smiled before raising his hand, holding it in front of his chin before lowering it and then tapping both sides of his chin with his index and middle fingers.

John understood that much: Thank you, Uncle…but the last sign was something John didn't recognize. Hamish held his right hand over his heart, his index and ring finger held up before he curled them and pulled his hand down towards his opposite hip before dropping his hands. John finally understood, the signs he didn't understand were names Hamish had put to the people in his life.

"No problem." Lestrade smiled, signing not nearly as fluently in return, but with obvious knowledge. He slowly turned to John. "Are you doing alright, John? I've been worried about you, what with everything that's happened lately." Lestrade said gently. Hamish's eyebrows pulled together instantly and even more so when Lestrade's hand met John's shoulder. Hamish knew his uncle to be very good at trusting the right sort of people, so something about John had to be good. But, why was his uncle worried? "I know the changes must be difficult."

"They are, but I'm handling them. Under the circumstances I think I'm managing quite well."

"I don't want to sound like you're mother or like I'm mollycoddling you, but you've been though a lot, if you have questions or need anything, call me, alright." Lestrade offered.

"Thank you." John smiled. "Oh, you told me that you needed to tell me something informative?"

"Yeah, later…" Lestrade commented, glancing at Sherlock and Hamish. "Pub tomorrow? Seven-ish?"

"Fine with me." John shrugged.

"See you then." Lestrade smiled. "I better get back to work, have a good day you three. 'Bye Hamish." He smiled warmly and signed his farewell to him.

_See you later. _Hamish agreed with a warm smile.

8Sherlock8

Midnight That Night

8Sherlock8

John took a drink from the glass of cold water, draining it before placing the glass in the sink. He turned and walked through the flat silently when he froze. Sitting on the couch, was Hamish. His black hair was tousled, his grey pajamas were loose and soft, and his grey-blue eyes were piercing. "You startled me, Hamish." John sighed. He had no idea why he was up so late, but his eyes and the look he was receiving reminded him far too much of the look Sherlock gave those he was deducing.

"You're sleeping with him." Hamish accused after a second. "Daddy doesn't form relationships easily, you haven't been here for more than a few days and yet you're sleeping with him."

Of course Hamish would be able to see that in an instant, he was just like the man who'd raised him.

"I don't understand it." Hamish frowned, standing up. "There's something about you, I can't put my finger on it." His voice was frustrated. "Just over three days in his life and Daddy's not only told you his whole life story, he's let you move in, and has pursued a romantic relationship. Had you been old friends I would know, Daddy tells me everything, but you're not. You're not old friends, yet you act like it and there is something extremely wrong with that. What's in it for you? For an army doctor who can't be in the army anymore and isn't allowed to do the proper surgeries he loves any longer? Is it the thrill of the chase, money, or something as intangible as instantaneous love?"

John opened his mouth.

"Ah…so it's not the money, because if it were, you'd be getting it from Uncle Myc and Uncle Greg seemed far too comfortable with you for you to be merely Daddy's 'keeper'. Is it your need for danger that draws you to him so you take advantage of his feelings?"

"You're brilliant," John could think of nothing else to say, but it was the truth. How was the five-year-old so smart? Even for a Holmes that had to be some sort of record. Hamish was more articulate than most of the adults John knew and far more observational than all of them.

"Flattery works on Daddy, not me. It's one of his biggest weaknesses if you ask me." Hamish said simply. "No…how can it be love? Yet…your face… The way you look at him. It should be so clear to me. Why didn't I see it before?" Hamish frowned. He stood up suddenly and looked up at John. "He doesn't share his emotions with many, so if you hurt them I will destroy you, and don't think I can't just because of my age. I have my methods. I have an Uncle who'd do anything for me if I asked, I don't even need to fake tears for him to hide any body I want hidden and dead." Hamish said, there was no doubt as to the connection he had straight to the British Government himself. "Goodnight, Dr. Watson." Hamish turned but then froze and turned back. "By the way, I think you've been quite rude. You know how to sign and I find it insulting that you never signed in my direction. It's common courtesy, you don't ignore someone who's speaking in the room and you shouldn't ignore me."

"I was under the impression that you didn't want me to hear you."

"Yet you listened anyway, bit like eavesdropping." Hamish glared.

"If it's any help I'm rusty and didn't understand most of it." John said, but then John realized why Hamish still looked upset. _I'm sorry, I did not mean to offend you, Hamish. _John said, he spelt out Hamish's name, but everything else was signed. Hamish observed the hand motions of a man who was once very fluent, but was very out of practice before he turned and closed the door to his bedroom, leaving John alone in the living room.

John slowly walked into Sherlock's room and froze with his hand on the door handle after he closed it. "What is it?" Sherlock wondered.

"Your son is…extraordinary."

"He's already spoken to you?" Sherlock wondered. "That was fast, normally it takes him a week. Maybe it's got something to do with your angel-ness…"

"He threatened me."

"Of course he did."

"He knows about us." John commented.

"He's not an idiot." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I was planning on telling him, but I suppose we'll have that talk later. He'll be upset, I usually tell him things before he figures them out. I try to be honest as much as possible."

"What do I do?" John inquired.

"Just be yourself. He can spot an act from miles away." Sherlock smiled before patting the space next to him in the bed. John walked across the room and lay down, instantly wrapped in Sherlock's arms.

"You're not going to sleep are you?" John wondered.

"Mmm…no." Sherlock sighed. "I've already got three hours, that's enough for me."

"Of course it is." John shook his head. "Sometimes I feel like I'm more human than you, and I'm only half-human."

"You seem human to me."

"Never seen me fly before." John chuckled.

"I'd like to." Sherlock commented.

"You'd like to study my wings." John smiled.

"I study everything about you." Sherlock said, gently rubbing circles on the small of John's back. John sighed and closed his eyes, going lax against the bed. Sherlock smirked slightly, proud he'd found the spot, albeit later that John had found his. John pursed his lips, considering for a moment before pulling his shirt over his head. John was careful when he let his wings spread. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?" John wondered.

"They just sort of appear." Sherlock stated, nodding toward the wings that glowed slightly in the dark room, warming all of the shadows with a white hue.

"They're always there, just in another plane. I don't know how to describe it… Do you watch Doctor Who by any chance?" John wondered, knowing it was a stupid question before it had come out of his—

"Yes." Sherlock sighed heavily. "It's Hamish's favorite, which means I can't delete it because he talks about it…a lot. Thank God Lestrade loves it or I'd never hear the end of it. He has someone to talk to. Please tell me you don't—"

"Guilty. I love that show." John chuckled. "Anyway, it's like there are worlds in parallel to each other, this world and the more spiritual one is here, like in Doomsday where there's a switch to bring the Cybermen from one version of Earth to the other. That's what it's like with my wings." John explained.

"The fact that I know what you're talking about thoroughly depresses me." Sherlock sighed and looked down.

"I'll make a Whovian out of you yet." Sherlock's glare protested prominently. "Alright, I'm going to try for some sleep, feel free to examine all you want…just…don't…"

"I won't hurt them." Sherlock promised, his eyes running along the expanse of the wings slowly.

"No experiments either." John insisted, curling closer to Sherlock.

"You take the fun out of everything." Sherlock chuckled, kissing his forehead gently. "Am I allowed to touch them?"

"Yes." John agreed. "But, first I'm going to fall asleep, cuddled up to you. Then do whatever the hell you want."

"Agreed."

* * *

**Much love to all of you!**


	11. The Reason for the Name

**I don't own Sherlock, by the way. **

**To the Reviewer(s):**

**MasterSerina83: Thank you. :D**

**Misha: I love Hamish to bits. I'm glad you like him too.**

**Sendai: Very good sign that the threatening is all over with. Hamish has a very high opinion of Lestrade, that will be explained sort of in this chapter, but not in so many words. There will be more signing after this chapter.**

**VesperL2: No problem. :D**

**AsamiAkihito: I think it takes a while, but Hamish let's John in, mostly on his father's good graces. Then we start to see the normal Hamish start to show up.**

**The weasel is MINE XP: He's a smart one, not quite as smart as Sherlock, but very smart.**

* * *

The Reason for the Name

Sherlock looked at the wings in the room after he'd kissed John's sleeping forehead. He slowly reached out to touch them, tempted by the warm, slight glow, and soft looking down. His fingers just grazed the silk feathers and John shivered. Sherlock froze and looked at John's sleeping face, worrying. John had said that he didn't like people touching his wings, but then he saw the smile on John's face, content, relaxed.

Sherlock gently ran his fingers over the wing closest to him. The pair of wings were like nothing Sherlock had ever seen, but they resembled a falcon's wings with a dove's coloring. They glowed slightly, emanating a soft, warm light in the room. It wasn't too bright, but it was very visible…

_Sherrin_… Sherlock thought. _Sherrin had glowed, not even half as brightly…but there was something, a faint shimmer in the air around her… Was she an angel? No, back to the facts._ John's wings were falcon-like, which fit with what John had said about him being very fast. They were soft, warm, and smelt like John, concentrated a hundredfold. The wings just felt like pure John, comfort, warmth, strength, speed, and conducting light for those who cannot find the way. So very…John.

Sherlock gently touched the arch of John's wing when suddenly it shifted, covering Sherlock's body protectively. Sherlock froze, he'd never felt so safe nor calm before. He was absolutely sure that nothing could harm him under the protection of that sole, brilliant wing. He would have to ask John about them, ask why they felt so…John like, why they made him feel completely sheltered from all harm.

A sharp outcry made Sherlock jump. John woke up at Sherlock's sudden movement and his wings instantly disappeared. "Everything alright?"

"Fine…go back to sleep, John." Sherlock whispered gently before he got up and headed for Hamish's room. The boy was crying on his bed, sweaty and shaking from head to toe. "Hamish…" Sherlock said, kneeling.

"Daddy!" The boy crawled forward quickly before hopping out of his bed and into Sherlock's waiting arms.

"It's alright, Hamish, I'm here… I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." Sherlock promised, stroking his hair gently.

"Don't leave, don't…" Hamish pleaded, his tears and snot staining Sherlock's shirt as he gripped his father tightly. "Don't leave me."

"I'm never going to leave you, Hamish. I'm right here." Sherlock swore, rubbing Hamish's back. The child went silent except for his sobs and sniffles as he refused to let go of his father's shirt. Sherlock didn't pull away, not until Hamish had run out of tears to cry and his body had stopped shaking. "Was it the nightmare again?"

Hamish nodded soberly into his father's shoulder. "It never changes. I'm sorry… I don't mean to wake you up." Hamish pulled away slowly and wiped his face with his hand.

"It's fine." Sherlock promised, brushing Hamish's bangs out of his face. "It's not real Hamish, I promise."

"I know…it just feels so real, when I wake up, I feel like you're gone."

"You know I'd never leave you, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know…" Hamish sighed heavily, sniffling slightly. "It's just so real, like I'm there, watching it happen."

"It's not true… It's your mind trying to mess with you."

"The subconscious really know how to do that…" Hamish said, not taking his eyes off of his father as he grabbed a tissue and blew his nose. "It takes the fractures and fears of the mind and shatters everything."

"When did you get so smart?" Sherlock asked with a smile, helping Hamish into his bed and covering him with the quilt Sherrin had made after he'd thrown the offending tissue away.

"I've always been like this." Hamish replied with a smirk identical to Sherlock's patented smirk.

"Believe you me, you weren't so witty as a baby. Do you know how many electrical appliances I had to dissuade you from touching?" Sherlock teased, tucking Hamish in and sitting by his side.

"That was an experiment."

"Well I would have thought you might have learned from the first time you were shocked, but you kept going back."

"After the first time I was experimenting on you." Hamish stated. "Seeing your reaction times." Hamish's tone was dead serious. The pair stared at each other, Sherlock's right eyebrow raised slightly at the declaration. Both of them burst into laughter.

"I do believe that was just _you _being stubborn." Sherlock said, tapping Hamish's nose.

"Not so." Hamish smiled back.

"Are you feeling better?" Sherlock asked gently.

"Mm-hm…" Hamish nodded. "Stay with me though? Until I fall asleep?"

"Of course." Sherlock agreed with a smile. Hamish smiled and closed his eyes briefly before opening them again.

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"When were you going to tell me?"

"Tomorrow." Sherlock sighed.

"Why him, Daddy? Why John Watson?"

"Do you not like him?" Sherlock wondered.

"He loves you. It's impossible, but he loves you. He gets you something for your throat without knowing he's doing it. He takes care of you before you even know you need it without noticing what he's done. Don't you think it's weird that he just happened to show up, just happened to meet you, and just happens to know sign language? How many people are army-doctors, adrenaline junkies, caretakers, expressive, confusing, slightly vibrant, and fluent signers are there in the world and how did he just happen to stumble into your life at the exact moment? Not to mention he killed for you—don't look like that, it was clear on your face when you told me about the case, you forget I've lived with you my whole life and can read you."

"Perhaps it's fate."

"You don't believe in fate."

"Well it's all too perfect to not be fate." Sherlock shrugged.

"You don't believe in perfection."

"I believe in you." Sherlock smiled warmly. A small line formed between Hamish's eyebrows.

"I am not perfect, and if I was there is no way two perfect things could exist in the same plane, because true perfection can only exist within one thing if it is truly perfect."

"You're over-thinking it…" Sherlock sighed.

"He's hiding something, Daddy. I don't know what it is."

"Perhaps it should remain that way for now." Sherlock insisted.

"You know."

"Of course I do."

"Tell me, please."

"Hamish…some things I can't tell you, because they aren't mine to tell."

"But you tell me everything…" Hamish frowned.

"John will tell you when he's ready." Sherlock promised.

"Just tell me something…"

"Yes, Hamish?"

"Is he safe?" Hamish asked sheepishly.

"Is that what you've been worried about? That he would hurt us?"

"I worry…" Hamish sighed.

"John Watson will be the very last person to hurt us, I can promise you that." Sherlock smiled and kissed his forehead gently.

"I trust you…"

"Try to be better for him, he's not as scary as you think."

"He really should have signed."

"That was my fault. I told him it might unnerve you. He was trying to be polite."

"I was a bit…"

"Like me."

"I guess." Hamish shrugged.

"It'll be better once you get to know him. Now, try to get some sleep."

"'K Daddy." Hamish smiled before rolling on his side and trying to fall asleep. It only took a few minutes for him to succumb to sleep and Sherlock smiled before toeing back into his room, doing his best not to wake John, but the instant he got into bed John woke up.

"Sh'lock?"

"Sh, it's alright. Get some sleep."

"'eard a shout."

"Hamish had a nightmare…go back to sleep."

"Mm'kay." John smiled before curling up next to Sherlock' resting his head on the Consulting Detective's chest.

8Sherlock8

"You alright, mate?" Lestrade wondered as John sat down across from him. "You look like you haven't slept. Was there trouble last night?"

"If you count a five-year-old who's very protective of his father and prone to nightmares trouble, then yes." John chuckled.

"Ah, the ultimatum. I've heard about it. He is very protective of his dad." Lestrade agreed with a nod. "When Hamish was three Sherlock explained to him that he was his uncle and what had happened to Sherrin… The poor kid was terrified for months that Sherlock was going to disappear like his mum did. I think he still is terrified, to be honest. We've had him over and heaven forbid he have a nightmare, because he goes into a panic attack when he can't find Sherlock."

"I can imagine." John nodded.

"I imagine Sherlock's told you a little bit about Sherrin."

"Yeah, he dreamt about her the other night… He was telling me stories."

"Well, it's time to hear my side of the story, which includes a bit from Mycroft's memories, but of course those are accurate to the very last detail."

"Of course." John snorted.

"Well, he is pretty genius." A warm, fond smile filled Lestrade's face.

"Greg, I just think you find him pretty." Lestrade snapped out of it and had the decency to blush before he cleared his throat and continued.

"Anyway… Sherrin was born second of the twins, January seventh at 12:01 in the morning. Mycroft was very specific about that date. Oddly enough, he didn't like Sherrin at first, he preferred his brother."

"Times have changed."

"Don't get me wrong, Mycroft loves his brother, they love each other in their own way, but they do fight nearly non-stop. He didn't like his sister because he couldn't explain her. Apparently, she never showed up on an ultrasound, of course those were relatively new back then so mistakes could happen."

"Doesn't seem like if they saw one they'd completely miss the other."

"That's what 'unnerved' Mycroft so much. He was under the impression he'd only have a brother, he 'spent months planning for every possible scenario that could be brought about by having a little brother'."

"He said that?" John giggled.

"Of course, it's Mycroft." Lestrade smiled. "Well, he didn't like her because she was a mystery, because he hadn't planned for her, and because she sort of glowed."

"I've wondered about that." John said. "Isn't that…strange?"

"It was barely there, brighter when she was happy, which was most of the time, but even then it was dim and often chalked up to being trick of the light. It wasn't that bright, you know, like a very dim aura. Like when you saw Mycroft for the first time, she looked like she was barrowing light from another angel, as though she had a guardian angel who was a half-ling who lived far away. That's what she looked like, to you and me she would have negligible light, but to a human it would seem strange, you know?"

"It would be strange."

"Sherrin was special. Here… I brought this for you to look at." Lestrade handed John a scrapbook. "It's for Hamish, his birthday is in six months, but Mycroft and I have been hunting down these pictures and putting them together. Well, I did the putting together mostly, he doesn't have the patience for this kind of thing. Most of them Hamish has never seen before. I just, want you to know a bit more before I tell you everything." Lestrade smiled. John slowly opened the rich, silver cover and looked at the first page. It consisted of a birth certificate, a tiny, silver spoon with Sherrinford engraved on it, an old hospital wristband to fit a tiny wrist, and a photo of a mother holding twins, one in each arm. They were identical, but John instantly pointed to Sherrin.

"Even in the photos…" John said with wide eyes. There was a faint glow around her. To his angel eyes it was negligible, but to the human side of him it was abnormal.

"Sherrin was special." Lestrade repeated.

"I can't believe Sherlock was ever that tiny." John commented, looking at Sherlock.

"Well, he wasn't always the tall, bossy, git." Lestrade chuckled. "It took us ages to get all of this, we've been searching for years for everything." John turned the pages and slowly watched Sherrin grow and Sherlock as he and his sister seemed nearly inseparable.

"Hamish looks just like his mother…" John smiled.

"The Holmes genes are quite strong apparently. You can line up five generations and find at least one person in each generation that's practically identical to the on before them. First time I met Siger I thought I was looking at Sherlock in disguise."

"Sherlock doesn't talk about him."

"They lost touch quite a bit after Sherrin died. Even Mycroft doesn't talk to him much. Siger's heartbroken, as far as I can tell. He doesn't know how to move on. I met him before…wonderful man."

John flipped through the pages, watching Sherrin age into a lovely young woman, her features weren't as sharp as Sherlock's and her smile was always genuine. There were photos of her at a beautiful black August F**Ö**rster, laboring over an experiment in a lab, and sleeping with a large book resting on her stomach.

There was a photo of her marrying a man in uniform. "Hamish has his father's nose." John commented, flipping. There was one solitary picture of Sherrin holding onto Hamish, the smile on her face was beautiful, the tears of joy and pain were running down her cheeks. The photo had been taken through a window. Sherlock was visible at Sherrin's side, looking worried, but Sherrin seemed too happy to care about anything other than her baby boy. The soft blue glow that surrounded her in every other picture was gone in that one. "Wait…blue. It's baby blue…like the sky…like…"

"I was wondering when you'd pick that up. She had a blue aura."

"I've never seen one. I've seen silver and gold and darkness, but never blue."

"That's because it's extremely rare. I'm talking one in a million chance you meet someone with a blue aura. They're different so different even the humans notice."

"What was she?"

"I don't know the name for them. Someone touched by God, I think. That's all I could think of. Sherrin always knew who she liked, always saw the best in people, but if she didn't like someone, there was a reason. Everyone knew she had the best judgment, they thought she was simply deducing people like her brothers. She didn't have to. She could see auras."

"What?" John asked in shock.

"Yes, she could. Not only that, she could see into the other plane. She could see all of the guardian angels that were invisible to everyone else, she could see the demons that walked the Earth, and she could see the wings of us half-lings even when we didn't let them show."

"That's impossible."

"No, not for a handful of people." Lestrade shook his head. "The first day I met her… I walked into her house, she was about two months along, I'd known Sherlock for a while and, well, _been _with Mycroft for a while to put it delicately, but that was the first time I met her. I looked at her once and had to blink, she was so bright, the brightest, purest blue, just blindingly vibrant. 'You caught yourself a good one, Myc.'" Lestrade recalled with a fond smile. "She then promptly kicked them out of her house to talk to me. She wanted to know where I'd been Mycroft's whole life and where Sherlock's angel had gone. She was protective of her boys."

"You couldn't have known."

"Nope, I couldn't, but I did know some things." He smiled. "That night, I got a Message. Sherrin was going to die, keep her alive until the child is born. I found out quickly how special Sherrin was. She was an even smaller portion of the human population. She was a full blown angel, trapped in a human body. She wasn't like us, no, she was the real deal. She was sent here to protect both Sherlock and Mycroft, Sherlock especially. She was meant to guide them, I bet they would have been a million times less sociable and perhaps sociopathic had it not been for her. She didn't know what she was, she just was. Her job was to start something and that's what she did. Even now, I've only got an idea of what she was meant to start."

"So she wasn't supposed to live?"

"Not as a human, neither was her husband, he was to have died several years before they met, but he had a miraculous recovery from cancer, there one day gone the next."

"Why?"

"Do you wonder why his name is Hamish?" Lestrade wondered.

"Sherrin liked the name?"

"I told her to name him Hamish, five months into her pregnancy." Lestrade explained. "I was looking after her and I told her that she was an angel, that she was going to die…I couldn't not tell her. She…she needed to know. And then I got a Message, word was that I was to tell Sherrin to name her son after his father. So I did."

"His father's name was Carl." John shook his head.

"I know, so I found it very interesting when Sherrin smiled and said she'd call her son Hamish. It seems to me, John, that she knew you were coming. She knew before you'd even became an angel, before your fourth tour, she knew."

"But I'm not Hamish's father."

"Sherrin seemed to think you're going to be one day." Lestrade shrugged. John swallowed. He'd never thought about it before…but why go to all of that trouble for one half-ling to be a father? Why? "You know, Sherrin said things, and sometimes, they just happened. Like how she told Sherlock he was going to meet and fall in love with a soldier, look at what he's done. She told me I'd be taking a 'young blood' under my wing, look at you sitting across from me. She was funny like that."

"Why go through all the trouble?"

"God sometimes finds an unexpected way to change things up, usually so that Lucifer doesn't decide to destroy everything before it's finished. I can tell you something, had He not sent Sherrin, Hamish wouldn't exist, Sherlock would be dead and so would you, because you would have no one to come back and fight for. If Sherrin would have died and never had Hamish, I doubt Sherlock would have lived through the trauma, he probably would have killed himself. All this work to put you and Sherlock on the same path. Bit suspicious, innit?"

"Why? Oh…threat."

"What?" Lestrade wondered.

"Moran, the man who murdered me, he said I was a threat."

"Ah… Colonel Moran correct?" John nodded. "I saw a photo of him on My's desk after a dishonorable discharge three weeks ago, and usually you don't see auras through photos, but he had the darkest aura I've ever seen. And I keep hearing a name in my head when I look at the photo, which was shortly followed by 'listen to me idiot why do you never listen when it's important?'"

"What was the name?"

"Baal."

"The right-hand man, charming."

"You do understand what that means, don't you? The right hand of Lucifer wouldn't be here unless something big was about to happen."

"Then why go through all of the trouble with Sherrin?"

"Because it brought you here. You're meant to stop something and I don't know what it is. You should though, what aren't you telling me?"

"I don't remember anything." John rubbed his eyes.

"Tell me everything."

"I remember dying! I remember being so alone and then having two angels at my side. I can't even recall their faces…"

"Go on, but quieter." Lestrade said, glancing over his shoulder, thankful that the pub was mostly empty.

"I remember falling, to my knees. I was in awe, in shock… I was…it was so, everything was so…"

"Yeah, so I've heard, keep going."

"I remember a Voice."

"I hear the Voice quite often…you must have felt—"

"Everything at once, really." John nodded. "And I remember being told to listen to a story and that I would have to make a choice at the end. I had a choice… Then all I remember is anger and terror…so much anger. I remember some rules…. Then there was pain again and I woke up on a slab, about to have my body ripped open and examined."

"Didn't need that last bit… Why? Why make it so he can't remember?" Lestrade asked aloud, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Oh, yes, and I'm just minced meat aren't I? I don't need to know anything possibly important about my family or the fate of the people around me." Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"You do realize you're talking to Him aloud, right?"

"I do that when I'm cross with Him." Lestrade sighed heavily. "He says it's not for me to know."

"The standard, shut up and let me do the work speech?"

"Pretty much." Lestrade nodded.

"War though… I don't think I can fight a war."

"John, I don't think this is going to be the typical type of war. Demons, Fallen…they don't attack the way a war works. They don't go for the kill all the time. They try to manipulate good people, corrupt, break, they pin people against each other, they sit on the outside pulling strings. They reach for the weak hearted and use them against those of faith and those who would stand up against them. That's why you and Sherlock are brilliant. He tears apart those sent to cause harm to others, the demons in human nature and the real demons in general. It's subtle. This is rather like a game of chess, white moved first, putting Sherin into play a sacrifice move, black attempted to tempt Sherlock, white moved Hamish to save Sherlock, black tried to destroy you, white sent you back… You killed a demon already. I've been seeing more of it, more humans turned demon and more demons on the loose causing havoc. You and Sherlock are moving to stop them. As soon as the Coronel finds out you're alive I bet that there will be a lot more cases to solve and some very close to home."

"Sherlock doesn't need me to solve cases."

"But one man without a guardian angel, facing down demons wouldn't last long. He's got you now, you can protect him and help rid the world of a bit of corruption, find a way to stop them from causing more."

"I can try."

"You'll make it. I'll be here to help and My's always watching."

"That's comforting." John laughed.

"It should be."

"Hope he's not watching the bedroom."

"He probably is, just to give you a fair bit of warning."

"Well, lovely to know my performance is probably being noted."

"I'm sure you do just fine." Lestrade teased.

"Damn right I do." John smiled.

"Let's make a deal: I won't give any details if you don't."

"Just one question first and then we have a deal."

"And that is?"

"Who does—"

"Me, and don't ever tell My I told you that."

"That's funny."

"Why?"

"The Holmes boys have a bit of a submissive streak in spite of their normal attitudes."

"Hey, it's hard to be in control all the time." Lestrade and John both broke into laughter.

"God…what did I get myself into?" John said soberly.

"War." Lestrade shrugged.

"I've never felt happier." John commented. "Sherlock is…perfect. It's like I've always been here, like fate, like love at first sight as ridiculous as that sounds."

"I went through it too, you know. It just sort of sweeps you away and there's nothing you can do to stop it." Lestrade sighed, thinking of Mycroft. "Those who haven't been through it never understand."

"Hamish…his light is silver with a blue tint." John suddenly realized.

"He's not like his mother, not quite. I think that's why he's so cautious with people. He must have the feeling like he _should_ see auras, but he can't. It must be an insecurity. It's like he knows everyone else is blind to the truth behind people and he feels like he can see vague outlines. He knows there's more to people but he can't quite see it. I feel like he has a bit of the abilities Sherrin had, but not enough to know the real intentions of those around him, maybe that's why he's cautious."

"Possibly…. God, she named him after me. We've never met."

"Perhaps she thought you'd be a good father for him."

"He can hardly stand me."

"He'll warm up." Lestrade chuckled.

"A father? I don't even know how to be one…my father was, well…"

"Abusive then?"

"Very."

"You won't be like him." Lestrade promised. "I do think Hamish got one thing from his mother completely though. It's hard to tell because he's a Holmes, but I think he knows the future in some aspects. He says things sometimes and…they happen. Sherrin did it all the time. I think Hamish might have a clue about some things even if he doesn't realize it…"

"Can't things be simple?"

"For us? No, it's not meant to be, besides simple's boring."

"True."

"Come on, I'm buy you a few pints, you need them, hell, I need a few." Lestrade added.

"I'm not going to argue."

* * *

**Much love to all of you!**


	12. Double the Trouble

**This chapter is the first part of a case, so it leaves off for a brief second.**

**I don't own Sherlock, by the way. **

**To the Reviewer(s):**

**MasterSerina83: I hope I don't disappoint! **

**Theatre of Dreamers: Thank you! We will be seeing more Sherrinford and I might possibly write a short story about Sherrin before her death, you'll learn a bit more about her later, Sherrin has a very unique job that would be nice to develop. **

** : Thank you! I'm always happy to have a new fan! I'm trying to make it so that it's not all winglock, but also very cannon with some parentlock.**

**AsamiAkihito: Thank you so much. John will be more of a father figure soon enough. :D**

**Misha: I love Sherrin too.**

**Satan'sPixie: I feel bad that Sherlock's a bit ooc, but he is a parent in this universe, so I guess it makes sense. He is a lovely father. I loved that I put Doctor Who in there. There will also be a cameo of my Doctor Who OC in this story, which will be fun to write. **

**Thanks for the love everyone!**

* * *

Double the Trouble

"Doctor Watson?" Hamish asked.

"You can call me John, you know." John smiled at him.

"I guess, do you mind if I watch the telly?"

"It's yours, you don't have to ask." John answered gently.

"It's a habit, Daddy doesn't like it on usually, he only has it because he knows I like it." Hamish replied with a shrug as he curled against the arm of the sofa, turning on the telly. Sherlock came out of the bedroom and frowned when Hamish turned on BBC three.

"You've seen it already." Sherlock stated.

"It's one of my favorites." Hamish shrugged in return.

"Wait hang on, is this the one with Mr. Clever?" John asked.

"Yeah, you watch this show?" Hamish asked, smiling at John. It took a week, but Hamish was smiling at John, of course over Doctor Who.

"It's brilliant. I love how he fights against himself, it's always fun to see that, like the Rebel Flesh. It's great to see two Doctor's on screen." John commented.

"It is brilliant."

"And then there were two." Sherlock sighed heavily as he collapsed into the chair across from John. "I'm outnumbered now."

"Who's your Doctor?" John asked.

"Tennant…but I think because he was my first. You always remember your first Doctor don't you?" Hamish asked before smiling. "I rather enjoyed Tom Baker though when I went back. Matt's grown on me a lot though. Yours? No, never mind, you're a Baker fan and your favorite companion is…" Hamish pursed his lips looking John up and down for a minute. "Donna."

"How did you—?"

"Simple, I've known you long enough to have a good guess as to who it was."

"Zoe." John stated simply.

"How? That's not possible. How did you know that?" Hamish inquired, shocked that the army doctor had deduced him.

"I have my methods." John shrugged.

"No, really, how did you know?" Hamish wondered. "You didn't tell him did you?" He turned to his father. "No, stupid, why would you talk about Doctor Who? I'm an idiot. Did you guess?"

"Nope."

"Clever."

"Sometimes." John shrugged.

"He can stay. I like him." Hamish smiled at Sherlock before turning to the telly. Sherlock winked at John who's face was full of shock. Five minutes in, the door opened downstairs and quick footsteps came up the stairs, pausing at the door.

"Client." Sherlock smiled before he opened the door, admitting a young girl. She was nervous and pale, her brown hair pulled back messily and her clothes pulled tightly around her. John instantly went to her side and helped her sit down.

"I'm sorry, but I heard this was the best place to go if you had a problem."

"Tell me what happened." Sherlock said, sitting across from her as John looked at her worriedly. The light of her guardian angel had a form, a young man with strong wings had an arm around her, trying to comfort her. John went to the kitchen to put the kettle on and called Lestrade as the girl began to talk.

"My brother… He's been depressed and visiting a psychiatrist for a few months, I've never agreed that he should. I thought he'd be alright, you know, just being at home, with people he cares about."

"Why is he depressed?" Sherlock asked.

"Our mother, she died of cancer. He's been upset, it shook him up."

"You're twins yes?" Sherlock inquired, looking the girl up and down. Hamish's eyebrows pulled together, he couldn't see how his father had made that leap.

"Yeah, how did you—? It doesn't matter. Well, last week his psychiatrist decided he needed to be admitted. He didn't need it. I know him better than anyone, I could have helped him, but they sectioned him. He wasn't that bad."

"Why are you worried about him?" Sherlock wondered. He knew from his own experience that twins just knew when the other was in trouble, had it been a normal brother-sister pair, he might not have listened, but this was different, twins were different.

"They won't allow me to see him. Yesterday I went to see him. I normally went to see him every day, spend hours with him so he knew he wasn't alone… He's been more upset since he got there last week, more disturbed… Thank you…" She said to John when he handed her a cuppa. "He got worse, I tried to talk to him, but he was fading…it was the strangest thing I've ever seen. Like life leaving a body… They won't let me see him anymore. They won't let me near the building and they threatened me."

"What sort of ward is it?"

"It's in South Kensington, it's new, and I don't like the people there, they creep me out, frankly. I tried to get him out but they won't let me. Please, I'm worried about him, something's wrong and I know you probably don't believe me but I always—"

"You always know when there's something wrong. You're twins, you feel it."

"Yes." The girl nodded.

"I know, I had a twin sister myself, she always knew the worst about me." Sherlock smiled.

"I'm sorry. I can't imagine losing a twin..."

"You won't have to." John assured her. He saw her guardian angel look up at him, smiling faintly before turning to comfort the girl again.

"What is your name and your brothers?"

"Annalise Schneider."

Sherlock froze. That was Sherrin's middle name.

"My brother's name is Thomas, I have a picture, I didn't know what you would need." She said pulling a picture out of her coat with shaking hands. "He's taller than me, blonde, very bright blue eyes. We're not identical at all...but our faces are quite similar."

"Did they tell you why they wouldn't let you in?"

"No, but they were rough with me." Annalise whispered, looking down. John slowly moved forward.

"May I?"

"Yes…" John gently looked at her right arm where bruises had formed. "He looked and felt…sinister."

"How did you fight him off?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"Simple, she didn't." John said. Annalise looked at him with wide eyes.

"You know?"

"I'm not blind." John chuckled. "I know someone helped you." He winked at her.

"Are you?"

"Yes." John answered.

"Really? You're not what I normally think of…when I think…"

"Never heard that one before."

"And they can see—?" She glanced over her shoulder.

"Yes, but shh." John smiled, pressing a finger to his lips. "I have to be a little mysterious." He whispered so Hamish couldn't hear.

"Sorry."

"It's alright." John promised. "We'll find Thomas."

"I—thank you…" Annalise smiled gently, getting up. John walked her to the door slowly. "You're an angel."

"Well, half-angel." John told her.

"You promise you'll find him?"

"Of course."

"Thank you." Annalise smiled and slipped on her gloves.

"When did you find out?"

"I was twelve, fell from a tree. I thought it was a dream, but someone had caught me…because I saw the same face when I was sixteen and I was in a car accident. I saw him again, he fought the man off at the hospital."

"You're lucky. There aren't many who see their angels."

"I know. He takes good care of me." Annalise said simply, smiling. "Good evening, and tell him thank you for me."

"I will." John smiled and closed the door after she'd passed through the doorway. He headed up the stairs to see Sherlock pulling on his coat.

"Hamish, make—"

"Sure to lock the doors and let no one in except for Mrs. Hudson." Hamish finished as John put on his coat. "But can't I come with you? You're only looking for a missing man—"

"Not this time Hamish… That young woman was injured and I don't want you hurt."

"Fair enough." Hamish shrugged, tossing his father's scarf to him.

"If there's trouble send the warning text, alright?"

"I think I've got it." Hamish rolled his eyes, obviously having heard this speech before.

"Don't get smart, Hamish."

"But I am smart." Hamish defended. Sherlock laughed.

"You know, one day you're not going to use that retort."

"As long as it works, why recycle? I'll do some of that research for you. Go on." Hamish smiled before he sat down at Sherlock's laptop. Sherlock smiled and grabbed John's hand, leading him out of the flat. John didn't miss the way Hamish's eyes narrowed on their joined hands.

"You don't have to worry about Hamish, John." Sherlock mentioned as they sat in the back of a taxi.

"What do you mean?" John asked, closing the door and telling the cabbie the street they wanted to go to.

"You're worried about what he thinks about us. He isn't angry about it, just curious. He's never seen me willingly touch anyone outside of himself, Mrs. Hudson, and occasionally Lestrade."

"Oh…"

"The girl knew what you were… How?" Sherlock wondered, glancing at the cabbie briefly.

"She's met her own guardian, when I told her I could see hers she made the leap." John shrugged.

"You can do that?" Sherlock wondered. "Meet them?"

"Yeah. It's rare, only happens during life and death situations. One will appear in their…solid form if there's trouble. They're usually only there for a brief instant. Most people never even notice, those that do chalk it up to a dream, those who remember are typically very strong in their faith, they become a lot more aware of their guardian."

"I never met mine, my first one, I mean." Sherlock said, looking out the window.

"You met him for a moment…you just don't remember. You were seventeen, I think, when he died. You've got me now though." John smiled warmly.

"I do, don't I?" Sherlock grinned.

"Always."

"How did you know she'd seen hers?"

"It wasn't an aura… He was shaped, still an intangible light, but he had a form, that's how I knew." John shrugged. Sherlock's phone rang and he answered it quickly.

"Anything?"

"_I found the ward. Relatively new, one year old. Set up in an old warehouse… The only people they've taken into the ward are people with mild to severe depression."_

"Depression?" Sherlock asked. "John what significance does depression have?"

"On what?"

"On…you know…" Sherlock nodded at him.

"Weakness, easily influence and manipulated, broken faith, and easy to…oh…" John closed his eyes and sighed. "That's not good."

"Thank you, Hamish." Sherlock said, hanging up. "What's not good?"

"Stop right here." John called to the cabbie. Sherlock paid him and got out to follow John down the street.

"What is it?"

"Trouble. Depression breaks people, leaves fractures in the mind, and allows other things to wriggle in. If someone without much faith, or someone without angels were given a nudge, they can end up like that bloody awful cabbie."

"The one you shot? What was wrong with him?"

"I'm a good half-ling. He was the opposite."

"So…half-demon then?"

"Good deduction." John agreed.

"Oh…and I don't suppose they're easy to arrest."

"Not the strong ones."

"So what are we going to do?"

"Do you know how much fun it is to hear you unsure of yourself?" John wondered with a giggle.

"This is new to me, I'm nervous, it's weird, I don't get—" John pulled Sherlock close, running his fingers through his curls. The detective relaxed instantly at the touch.

"It's alright. What do you think I'm here for? I've got you. I'll protect you. I'm a warrior, there aren't many demons out there who can keep up with me. Everything will be fine."

"But you could be hurt."

"Sherlock, I intend to chase you 'round for a living, if I don't get hurt I'm doing it wrong."

"Not funny."

"It sort of was funny."

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**Much love to all of you!**


	13. Win-Win

**Oh! And I have posted a picture on my blog, those who haven't read my Doctor Who series haven't seen it, but it's my little place for random outtakes and sneak peeks and artwork that anyone may send to me, because I'm-quite honestly-shit at drawing, or else you'd have an illustrated story. Anyway it's: the backwards .com. No spaces. It will likely have little hints as to where the story is going. As of now I see two big stories and a short one/twoshot after that, plus a prequel. I'm usually good at telling you if there has been an update. :)**

**I don't own Sherlock, by the way. **

**To the Reviewer(s):**

**MasterSerina83: It's not really a psych ward, that's so much fun. Glad you're enjoying the story.**

**Amber Ice Fox: Thank you, dear.**

**AsamiAkihito: I think Doctor Who was the best way to get the two of them tied together, but there will be more cute-getting-to-know-you-ness. I love that line about chasing Sherlock. It was my favorite so far. **

**AmeliaPond1997: Eventually, that will happen, near the end of this story.**

**Thanks for the love everyone!**

* * *

Win-Win

John looked at the building before he glanced at Sherlock. "What do you see?"

"Exactly what you see, I expect. Why are you asking such a silly question?"

"What do you see, Sherlock?" John asked again, gesturing towards the building.

"Brick warehouse, old, used to be a factory in the industrial revolution, has recently been changed into a warehouse. Windows at the top to let light in, but to not allow past workers to look out, no distractions from working that way—" Sherlock was interrupted by a sudden kiss, John's hands in his hair, pulling him close.

"You are brilliant!" John beamed when he pulled away.

"I just looked at a building… I can tell you about the other buildings if you like."

"You're more brilliant than you realize, Sherlock." John commented, looking toward the building, darkness shrouding the whole place. "There's a heavy illusion on it, there's at least one decently strong demon inside, to be able to put up such an illusion, but you see right through it, you have no idea how brilliant you are."

"What am I supposed to see?"

"Look at the building." John nodded. Sherlock turned and John gently put his hand on his neck. Sherlock took a deep, sudden, breath of shock and blinked. The building was different, newer, cleaner, covered in signs that advertised it as being a psychiatric ward. There were windows in every floor.

"Is this what everyone else sees?"

"Yes."

"Why can't I see it?"

"You're too smart and the illusion is too weak." John said, letting go of Sherlock, allowing him to readjust to the truth again. "You subconsciously notice the little things that the demon who created the illusion missed, perhaps he forgot to cover a cracked brick, instantly your mind noticed it and the illusion was broken. It happens so quickly you don't even know you did it."

"So people actually bring their family and friends here thinking…"

"Yup. Humans are easily fooled by those who want to fool them." John frowned. "That's why so many people go wrong, so many people becoming what they shouldn't be." John took Sherlock's hand and led him down into a dark alley, hidden away from the semi-busy streets. "Do you trust me?" John asked, slipping his jacket off.

"Yes, why?" Sherlock asked, looking at the building, trying to figure out the best way to get inside. Not exactly paying attention to John.

"You have to be sure about this, no second guessing me."

"Of course I trust you. I wouldn't let you near the flat if I didn't."

"Good." John smiled. Sherlock froze when he felt John's arms around his upper chest. John couldn't hold him like that, not naturally.

"John?"

"Sh… I got you, hold onto my arms if it makes you feel better." John soothed him. Sherlock grabbed onto his arms and he felt warmth swirl through his entire body. He gasped and looked down, the ground was gone.

"John?"

"It's alright."

"We're—"

"Angel remember?" John chuckled before Sherlock felt his feet hit the roof of the building, particularly the ledge just outside the windows.

"That was…" Sherlock shivered and looked at John. "Does it feel that…extraordinary to you?"

"Every time." John smiled.

"Why don't you fly all the time? I would if I were you? We have to do that again."

"I'll take you sometime. It's a date." John promised before looking through the windows.

"You're very smooth… I almost didn't notice." John smiled at him. "Why are you smiling at me like that?"

"Because I've successfully distracted you from your Work, I thought that you were married to your Work, am I the lover you keep hidden then?"

"If you'd like. I'd be very good at keeping you hidden." Sherlock grinned before he turned to the window. There were fifteen people in beds, IV's running into them, seven men in the room, and one had a knife, walking towards a figure trapped in the corner. "Are those?"

"Yes."

"What do we do?" Sherlock asked, he didn't know what to do, he was out of his element. John knelt down and pulled a gun out of an ankle holster, handing it to Sherlock. "Don't you need this?"

"Nope, but you might. I'm worried about you, not me." John said looking down through the window. "It's a miracle they haven't noticed me yet." John took a deep breath and swept his eyes across the entire warehouse. "When the glass shatters, jump, just inside is a ledge and a stairway. As soon as you land turn left and fire, it just has to hit them, it doesn't need to be lethal. I trust you can shoot properly enough for that."

"I'm not as good as you." Sherlock stated truthfully. He knew he was passable, but nowhere near John's level.

"You don't have to be." John turned and noticed Sherlock shaking slightly. John gently ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair. Sherlock relaxed slowly, the tension in his body fading away. "You've fought demons before, Sherlock, you'll be alright."

"I didn't know what they were then."

"You still don't and that's good, that's fine. I'll have to teach you, imagine, me teaching you instead of the other way around." John smiled gently. "You got them earlier in your life, you'll do fine here as well."

"What about you?"

"Sherlock, I'm fine and I will be perfectly fine."

"It's five on one." Sherlock commented.

"Six on three." John corrected. "You'll be taking down the sixth so technically it's five on two."

"And who's the third on our side?"

"Ready?" John asked curiously.

"John who's—?"

"I hope you're ready." John said before he propelled himself through the window, glass shattering. Sherlock remained frozen for just an instant before he jumped through the window, landing on a platform. He turned left and put a bullet in a huge man's side, making him drop, clutching at it. He turned to see John standing in front of Annalise protectively, in-between her and the demons. He was glowing, wings stretched protectively. The normally small looking man in comfy jumpers looked absolutely frightening, strong, and confident. Sherlock wanted to slap himself for finding the image extremely sexy at such an inappropriate time.

Four of the demons who had stolen human forms took a step back, suddenly looking very unsure of themselves. "Kill him." The one closest to John ordered. Instantly the four converged on John.

Pure terror filled Sherlock. He couldn't lose John, he couldn't. The demon with the long knife grabbed Annalise and started to drag her back, the knife at her throat when a man appeared behind him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him off of Annalise, his wings spreading behind him. "Go, Anna! Now!" The angel said before turning on the demon again, a second fight filling the air. Sherlock quickly moved to Annalise's side and put his arms on her shoulders.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked. She was cut and bruised, her head looked like it had been snapped back against something. She'd been throttled, the bruises were forming on her throat.

"I'm…I'm fine." She whispered staring after her angel with worried eyes. "He protected me." She nodded towards her angel. Sherlock didn't know what to do, John had already dropped two of his enemies, both on the ground, dead. Sherlock heard a snap and looked up to see the third falling to the ground, his neck broken neatly. He didn't know why he'd ever doubted John's ability to fight, the angel was absolutely unstoppable, full of controlled fury, skill, and precision. Not a single scratch on him. "NO!" Annalise screamed suddenly. John and Sherlock both looked to the other angel. A knife was sticking out of his chest, the demon he face was smiling triumphantly. The angel looked at Annalise with sad eyes before he disintegrated into golden light, fading away from the world like smoke. Annalise passed out with a scream, Sherlock barely managed to catch her before her head hit the floor.

John's distraction earned him a slash across his chest, but the second to last demon fell, his neck broken, twisted at an odd angle, not nearly as clean as the other kills. John turned on the last one and his face was full of absolute hatred. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Do you think you're stronger than him?"

"I know I am, this," John nodded to the four dead demons, "was nothing." He warned the strongest as he picked up the knife from the ground.

"Well then, you're protecting the great detective then?" He said glancing at Sherlock. "I know someone who wants you dead."

"Get in line, it's a long one. I have numbers if you want to take one." John offered in a tight voice, circling around the demon.

"You have no idea who's got you on their list."

"I've just assumed it's everyone now." John shrugged.

"You're not wrong. The best has come back." The demon smirked.

"I'm well aware of Baal."

"He's not the only one. Someone better has decided to come and play, and I don't think you'll survive."

"Not many think I'd survive Afghanistan either…though, in their defense, I did die." John chuckled.

"You'll die again." The demon lunged forward, his knife held out. Sherlock stood quickly, aimed and pulled the trigger. A shot to the chest. He didn't even slow down. Sherlock tried to get another shot off, but he risked hitting John as the pair grappled for control. Sherlock felt a tear at his heart and saw blood on John's shoulder. He started to run forward, but by the time he got there John was standing, alone, the knife in the sticking out of the demon's dead back.

"John…" Sherlock grabbed him. "Are you okay?" There was a few missing feathers from John's right wing and blood droplets on his left shoulder.

"I'm fine Sherlock." John promised, wrapping him in a hug, wiping the blood from his shoulder, the wound had already healed, small flecks of down replacing the missing feathers. "Are you alright?"

"I didn't do anything."

"Well you did just shoot two men." John said with a small smile.

"Demons, and they weren't very nice." Sherlock corrected before both of them burst into laughter.

"Where's Annalise?"

"She collapsed." Sherlock said, leading John to her side. John knelt down next to her and pressed his fingers to her pulse point.

"She's going to be alright… It's the shock and the pain… I think she'll be alright."

"From what?" Sherlock wondered.

"Most humans simply feel a bit of pain or uneasiness when their angels die, but she knew her angel, she felt him. When he died, she could feel it, like a stab to the heart. She'll be upset and different, for a time, but she'll function again." John sighed. "The others, we need to get them off of this medicine, it's driving them mad and into a very deep depression. They need a proper hospital." John nodded.

"What about the other one?" Sherlock asked, looking up.

"Poisoned bullets." John said simply, taking back his gun. "Mycroft gave them to me, a 'thanks for moving in with my brother' present I think."

"Lovely, he was useful for once."

"You didn't need to be a perfect shot…but I may be teaching you later. You should know, in case I'm not around when you run off at midnight." John smiled.

"It didn't hurt the last one."

"He was strong, but it did weaken him, quite a lot. Next time, let's find some nasty humans to fight, not demons, I mean, I'm good at getting rid of them, but let's not make this a day-to-day activity, alright?"

"I couldn't agree more…" Sherlock pulled him close and John, sensing his discomfort, encircled Sherlock with his wings protectively. "I could feel it…"

"Feel what?"

"When he cut you, I could feel it, in my heart, like someone had cut me."

"Then I shouldn't get hurt too often, should I?"

"Never again, more like."

"Bossy."

"Reckless."

"Says the man who almost took that damn pill."

"I wasn't going to."

"Liar."

"Idiot."

"You're idiot." John corrected.

"My idiot." Sherlock agreed, kissing the top of his head gently. They turned to help the poor humans on the beds. Sherlock looked at the drugs running into the veins of Thomas before he looked up at John. "Why do this?"

"Depression breaks down faith and the mind. They are encouraging it because some demons can't simply jump from Hell to this world, they need to fracture something, a place that's easy to jump through. The lesser demons simply can't make the jump without a pliable host."

"Like parasites."

"Exactly. Weaken the immune system and then take over." John said, taking the tubing out of Thomas' arm, stopping the flow of the drugs that would only make him worse. John looked over at Sherlock. "Tend to those over there, we need to get them to a hospital, I'll call Lestrade." John said gently, wrapping Thomas' bleeding arm with a cloth before he called Lestrade.

"Yes? John are you alright?" Lestrade wondered.

"Yeah, fine." John agreed. "There are some dead demons though and I'd rather like them gone. I also have ten humans who need a hospital, call Mycroft in on it won't you? He can find us, I know he's watching."

"Christ… Yeah, we'll be there in a bit, hang tight." Lestrade said before he hung up. John turned when he noticed that Sherlock had gone oddly silent and still. John gently wrapped his arm around his waist and looked down at what Sherlock was seeing. A little boy, no more than eight with dark hair, was being pumped full of drugs meant to drag him into depression, to break him.

"Hamish…that could be Hamish." Sherlock whispered, terrified. John gently stroked his hair and most of the tension left Sherlock.

"It's not Hamish, Sherlock. It isn't Hamish." John promised, slipping the IV from the boy's wrist.

"How could they do such a thing to a little boy, John? How could they?" Sherlock whimpered.

"They're evil, Sherlock. Come here." John whispered, pulling him into a hug.

"What if they came for Hamish? I can't lose him, I can't."

"You won't, I promise I'll protect him." John said, trying to soothe the distraught man. It had been a bit too much for him, seeing someone so like his little boy in trouble on top of death and demons. "Sh…sh… I've got you. You'll be alright and so will Hamish. I'll watch out for both of you. I'll take care of you…" The doors opened and Mycroft and Lestrade burst into the warehouse a few moments later. Mycroft glanced at his nearly sobbing brother and at the little boy.

"Take him home, Dr. Watson. We'll clean up this." Mycroft nodded.

"CCTV?" John asked.

"Fly straight to 221B no one will be the wiser." Mycroft promised. "Fly high." John nodded and pulled Sherlock towards the door and back into the alleyway.

"Sherlock, hold onto this for me?" He asked, holding his jacket and jumper out to Sherlock. He nodded and clutched them tightly. John wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close. Sherlock buried his head in his shoulder. "Don't fidget too much, alright?" Sherlock nodded into his chest before John lifted Sherlock off the ground and into the air, his wings pulling them steadily and smoothly into the air. The white feathers in stark contrast against the night. The dark sky and Sherlock's dark coat were the only things keeping them mostly camouflaged from the eyes of humans.

8Sherlock8

John pulled on his jacket and grabbed Sherlock's hand, helping him walk to the front of 221B. The pair of them made it into the flat and Hamish looked up at his father. "Are you alright, Daddy?" Sherlock opened his arms and Hamish understood. Hamish instantly hugged his father. Sherlock closed his eyes and John slowly walked away, not wanting to get in the way of the moment, the moment of reassurance for Sherlock that everything was alright. "Better?" Hamish asked, looking up at Sherlock with a small smile.

"Better." Sherlock nodded.

"Are they alright?" Hamish inquired.

"I think they'll be fine."

"They will be." John promised. Sherlock smiled thankfully at John before he headed off to his room. John saw Hamish turn on him. He made the sign John had recognized meant 'John', only this time Hamish made it in front of his stomach, not next to his head.

_You helped him._

_I tried. _John replied simply.

_When there's a kid, he gets scared. He sees me, I think. _Hamish paused. _He usually calls, in a panic. It isn't good. It takes hours to calm him down sometimes. You help him._

_I try my hardest to keep him from pain._

_Maybe that's why I don't mind you so much. You make him happy. _Hamish nodded.

_Hamish? _John signed each letter.

_Yes?_

_My name, it's changed. What is it anyway?_

Hamish ran through the motions slowly. _Doctor and solider combined_. He explained afterwards. _It was over my head earlier, my way of conveying confusion or confliction. Now I think I trust you. _Hamish said before he smiled gently and walked away.

"Hamish?"

"Yes, John?"

"Thank you."

"Thanks for watching out for him. I'm hardly able to do it properly. You're good for him." Hamish said simply before he headed for his room. John smiled, his heart feeling a little bit warmer.

* * *

**Much love to all of you!**


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